Music is food for the soul

Posted on Mon Sep 11th, 2023 @ 3:50am by Lieutenant JG Damien Blackford

Mission: MISSION 0 - History Speaks
Location: Living area
622 words - 1.2 OF Standard Post Measure

Damien hurried through the encampment, hands wrapped around his body, rubbing his arms, desperately trying to warm himself up. His teeth chattered together as he made his way past the mess tent, hurrying towards where the living area had been set up. Quickly heading over to his tent, he pushed the flap aside, and quickly ducked inside, letting out a sigh of relief as the warmth rushed over him. Given the nature of their current predicament, the majority of the crew were currently sharing tents. Not that it bothered him. He knew when he’d joined Starfleet, that not every mission was going to be sunshine and roses.

Tossing a quick smile to some of the other Officers that were currently sitting inside, he headed over to his own bed, dropping down onto it. Staring up at the ceiling of the tent, he couldn’t help but think about conversations that he’d had with his father when he’d first announced that he wanted to go into Starfleet. The first of which had been to make sure that it was what he really wanted, and not something he was doing, simply because he thought it was what was expected of him.

Letting out a soft sigh, and closing his eyes, he wondered if his father had ever been in a situation like this one. He’d always been very cagey about what he’d gotten up to whilst away on assignment. Mostly, he assumed, it was because he wasn’t allowed to discuss some of his missions, but he suspected part of it was also because he didn’t want to think about that time whilst he was on leave. And after the Dominion War broke out, He became even more reluctant to discuss his experiences. Not that Damien, or his mother, ever pushed Him to talk about it. They both knew that the stuff he’d gone through must have been horrific.

Opening his eyes again, his thoughts flashed back to his Academy days, and the Survival training he’d gone through as part of his Security training. They’d been dropped on boiling-hot desert worlds, rain-tossed oceanic worlds, and even frozen tundra. But part of Damien’s brain had always thought, maybe even hoped, that that was simply worst-case scenario training and that they’d most likely never actually need said training.

Sitting up on the bed, he reached down and picked up his violin case, opening it, and gently removing the instrument. How such a delicate thing had managed to survive the crash, he had no idea, but he was glad it did. He hadn’t had much chance to play it since being here, but even so, knowing it was there, was a comfort. After a few seconds of carefully checking the instrument, making sure there were no cracks or such in the wood, he slowly ran the bow across the strings, before stopping, and tuning it. When he was satisfied, he closed his eyes and started running the bow across the strings again. Not necessarily playing anything, just enjoying the music. After a minute, he suddenly became aware of the fact that the tent had grown even more silent than before. Opening his eyes, he realised that the rest of the tent was watching him. Feeling his face redden, he slowly lowered the violin.

“Sorry.” He said quietly. “I can stop if it’s bothering anyone.”

“No.” One of the others quickly said, raising their hand. “It’s nice.” Glancing around at the rest of the tent, he shrugged, saying. “Could you play some more?”

Damien smiled, nodding wordlessly. Raising the violin back up, he cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and started playing once more.