Chronicle:Remnant of war

A smoke-filled cough comes from a snow-covered hill looking over the small town of Northland and the lake it sits on, the sun glared down on a lone figure standing atop the hill. This place was all but a regular smoke spot for the figure. The view, weather, and environment were all but an extra add-on to the peace and quietness he enjoyed. Cigar butts littered the ground below him, buried in the white snow from years of constant smoking at the same exact spot every single day at least once.

Ever since he left the air force there have been fewer and fewer people wishing to gain his attention and knowledge about him as the years went by until no one came, yet he was considered a national hero of the Union State being all but forgotten. The irony right?

Whole internet articles had been written detailing his life from the second he was born into this world to when he left the air force and everything in between. 10 years had passed since the last person had come to ask him for an interview or anything relating to what he did while serving.

Not today, today was different, for the first time a young man from the south had found him. How could he tell he was from the south before even words were uttered between them? He was wearing 2 layers of clothes and on top of that an Arsytian winter hat to keep warm which didn't seem to be working well, meanwhile, he wore a dress shirt over his old bomber jacket and winter cargo pants when it was -15 degrees outside. His boots weren't even made for winter, they were jungle boots from a military surplus store.

Guess he got used to the piercing icy cold while living here for so long.

He didn't even turn to look at him as he heard the sound of snow being kicked up behind him, he saw in the corner of his eye and already knew what was gonna happen continuing to smoke his cigar as he gazed out to the town of Blue Lake in front.

"Lieutentant Richard Folke?" the young man asked as he stopped behind him. "Callsign MorningStar? is that really you?" he reaffirms his question to make sure a hundred percent that it is the right person not being able to see his face clearly as it was obscured by an eastern slouch hat.

Richard moves his head slightly towards him allowing one eye to view the man fully that had asked. One hand in his jacket pocket and one holding his cigar. "Who's asking?"

Nervously the young man answers his question,"I'm Kellog Miller, um I-I'm a journalist from Shingleton. I work for the Daily Star. I couldn't find you online so I came physically" Slowly he drew out a notebook and pen, his hands shaking partially because of the cold and the tension between him and Richard. Who knew meeting with a national hero would be so nerve-wracking? It was as if this man was about to shoot him dead right here instantly.

"You don't need to stand behind me y'know. Come, stand next to me." That was unexpected, Kellog didn't know if that was an open invitation to get gutted or a gesture to show he was no harm. He took his invitation and marched next to him where he could see his face fully now.

It was really the legend himself, a lot older than he looked in photos posted online to the internet. His hair had turned from a dark blonde to grey and his face was now full of wrinkles like he would expect a person to age. "You want to know what I've been up to the last few years? Then tell me Kellog why do you think I moved here?" He thinks to himself for a few seconds before answering.

"Is it because the place was nice-" Richard interrupts him in a direct tone, to be honest, he would have been surprised if he had gotten the right answer. "This place, listen. Do you hear the sounds of car horns going off every 5 seconds? The sound of dozens of conversations and phone calls being answered all at once? No. This place is peaceful. There are no disturbances, it was a place I could spend the rest of my days with...my wife..."

A click of a pen was heard. Kellog was busy scribbling important essentials of what he needed until Richard mentioned his wife, the way he mentioned it made him question if he should ask what happened to her. He chose to keep quiet and listen to his words without interrupting him. He had come this far to meet the legend himself in person and he isn't letting something like a potentially insensitive question from making it all come crashing down like a house of cards.

Richard turns around to face the opposite direction to look at something. Kellog soon turns around too and sees he's looking at a fairly humble modern home just a few meters down the hill. "You know kid I could have gotten a nice penthouse apartment in downtown 5-Point city with all the money I made shooting down our state enemies and conducting interviews. But I didn't, I bought this house with my wife away from the big city chaos. A nice peaceful place where I could spend as much time as I wanted with the love of my life. Maybe even raise a family...but god had other plans..."

Kellog stops writing down notes and looks back up to Richard's face, he's trying to remain stoic while relieving painful memories it seems. "Terminal breast cancer. She passed 6 years ago leaving me with nothing. I might as well be left with a can of air."

The young journalist gives a small nod. "Im sorry for your loss..." He said in a soft tone. Kellog didn't know what else to say, cursed with a inability to speak, he had lost the drive to write down notes the moment Richard mentioned such a heavy topic.

Seeing the discomfort in Kellog, Richard cuts to the chase deciding to give what he came here for upfront. "But you didn't come here to listen to some fuckin old man's sob story, although to be frank...I haven't done much in the last few years, I get all my stuff from my computer or local stores in town without talking to many people. I've worn the same clothes for the past few years barring random rips and tears here and there warranting replacements. Every day I wear this jacket, the same one I wear as we speak. I wish I could give you the answer you were looking for like I've become a flight instructor or farmer or anything more interesting than a 61-year-old mopping about doing jack shit."

"Right, thank you for your time...how much do I owe you?..." He opens his outermost jacket in an attempt to find his wallet which was prepared with stars to pay Richardson for his time as was interviewing any other celebrity but instead a hand is placed on his arm that was digging inside his jacket. "It's alright, this rare social interaction for me was enough for payment plus I'm not charging some kid just for talking to me. I can tell your new, just don't make shit up in your article to draw readers in, either you make it truthfully or you scrap it entirely. Those are my terms."

A sigh was released from his mouth, he takes his arm out of his jacket and zips it back up. "Thanks for your time, I'll be leaving now." Having gotten what he needed, Kellog puts away his notebook and pen beginning to walk away now that his task was complete. Both did not utter a word to each other even though they probably would not see each other ever again in their entire lives.

As he is walking down the hill he glances back at where the legendary ace was seeing him drop his cigar on the ground having been done using it. All there was left to think about was what will he do with the information he has gained? Will he make a genuine article on what he has been doing? Or will he scrap it all? Maybe he will go against his words and exaggerate some parts to make it more interesting?