Cursed Angels

“F-f-four minutes a-a-and twenty-f-f-five seconds,” he stutters and stares in fear at the course in front of him. It’s one of the tougher out of the three here.

My best time is one minute thirty-two, and it’s the course record. It was achieved two years ago now. Nobody has come close. My friend Liam is second best at one minute fifty. I damn near died the day I set my record.

Everything ached after I’d finished, and my heart felt like it would beat out of my chest because it was hammering so fast. I think I collapsed and laid at the finish line for about ten minutes afterward. Until one of the other men threw a bottle of iced water over my head. I shot up and dunked his head into the muddy water until he was begging for mercy.

For some reason, I remember little after that incident, it’s like something erased it from my memory. First thing I knew, I was waking up back in the dormitory with a girl riding my cock like everything was normal.

Lazily, I rub at where the incision in my skull still heals. They must have reset my memory that day. I wonder why? What was it that triggered that particular scene? I can only hope my memory continues to come back, and I can figure it out.

The gangly lad coughs, and I refocus my attention back on him.

“Am I all right to go, sir?” he asks.

“Let’s do it together,” I tell him, and his eyes go wide.

“But . . . but . . . but . . .,” he stammers. “I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll help you. Give you some tricks of the trade on the way. See if we can beat, no, annihilate that best score of yours. What do you say?” I raise an eyebrow at him and start to limber up. Hamstring stretches and raising my hands high above my head to loosen the muscles.

“Yes, please, sir.” The boy does a few of his own stretches and then goes to stand on the start line. I take my place next to him, and glance at the soldier with the stopwatch.

“Three, two, one . . .,” he counts down, and we sprint to the first obstacle, three ropes in a line, the gap between the second and the third bigger than the first and second. The gap to the landing on the other side of the third is farther still.

I grab hold of the rope and in one easy swing take the second rope in my hand and then onto the third. A backward and forward movement, and I land on the platform on the other side without even breaking a sweat. I turn around and find the boy hanging like a sack of potatoes on the second rope trying desperately to reach out for the third. He’s still a few inches away and utilizing all his strength on the first obstacle. No wonder he takes over four minutes. He must be dead on his feet by the time he gets to the end. Sometimes these kids just need to build muscle tone and cardio strength before someone puts them on a course like this.

“Pull your legs up and swing them backward and forward,” I encourage him, “Like you’re on a swing in the park. Remember when you were a kid.” He can’t be over seventeen, if that, so he must remember being on a playground.

A memory enters my mind of Samara in the garden of the orphanage sucking on a popsicle and swaying backward and forward on the old wooden swing we found hidden amongst the undergrowth. I wonder if she’ll allow me to buy a swing for our bedroom when I get out of here.

She looked so happy and carefree. My dick stirs. Fuck. I’m supposed to be doing an assault course, not getting a hard-on in a field full of soldiers. Focus, I admonish myself. I return my attention back to the boy, and he’s got enough momentum now to go from the second rope to the third and then straight onto the platform.

“Wow,” he exclaims. “It always takes me forever to do that. My arms are shorter than everyone else’s, I swear.”

“It’s not about your arm length. It’s all in the swing,” I tell him as we run for the next obstacle, a tunnel full of mud and water. Go under to get through it. “You all right with this one?” I ask. He nods and dives straight through. I follow him, and before I can draw breath again, we are both sprinting over crisscrossed platforms of wooden beams above yet more water. They are small and tricky to navigate, but with holding our hands out like airplanes, we are over them in no time, leaving the gigantic wall in front of us to hop over. I take a deep breath to steel myself. Launching myself at the wall, I flip myself over and land two footed on the other side. I wait for the boy to follow me, but I realize he isn’t. I step back around the wall to find him dangling from one of the wooden slats about halfway up.