My English teacher told us to write a story in four minutes without any previous knowledge of this assignment's existence or planning time. This is the spawn of boredom, lack of direction, sleep deprivation, a preoccupation of reminiscing of lunch time, a pencil, paper, and four minutes. My apologies for the run on sentence. I know, I know, I suck.

Dedicated to the daughter of 1SG Knight.

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4 Minute timed write

After the extensive mental exertion that is my normal school experience, I decided that I would skip work this afternoon and hangout with my girlfriend. After a warm welcome from said angel, we proceeded to chat about the weekend that was to come and plan our next personal activity outside of prying eyes. Suddenly, a cold grizzled voice spoke to me, beckoning me to enter the living room to encounter her father. My momentary clairvoyance was of the possibility of a typical first father's interview. I entered feeling what little confidence I had fading along with the presence of my lover beside me, replaced instead with the legends of the fabled man, returning from the depths of my mind. Her father was said to be a U.S. Army First Sergeant, having recently returned from deployment. As I laid eyes on him, the tales became true; the man was of a sturdy build, possibly standing upwards of 6' 3" or better. The man gave the appearance of having seen more than any human being should ever be forced to witness, an all seeing, all knowing gaze that locked with mine, equipped with a mental grip with equivalent power to the pull of the sun. The figure had multiple scars, the most prevalent being a fresh abrasion stretching from just in front of his left temple, to the aft of his ear. The man motioned for me to take a seat on the couch as he sat in the adjacent chair. The man started with "Sir, I have-" at which we both froze, as the quaint sound of a violin quietly filled the room. The source of the music seemed to come from the kitchen, where my beautiful partner was currently waiting, but soon the notes seemed to come from everywhere. After a few additional notes, my ears recognized the melody of taps, as the delayed echoes of its notes reached our ears. The eerily beautiful sound had seemed to emulate the sounds of the greatest orchestras to have touched human ears. As the music passed the bridge of the song, the sound slowly faded from my ears, and the last thing I could hear was the near silent beating of my heart. As I regained focus, I looked towards the father of my lover, and what little rational thinking I had left whispered to me; "Perhaps skipping work today was not the greatest of ideas..."