some genuine reminder for a soldier
there was a soldier in the midst of some old fashioned dungeon. Amongst the scraps of paper and old diagrams he came across a cassette tape. Pocketing it he tried to retrace his steps. He knew he should have drawn some sort of map; used a string or something uncoiled to retrace his steps. His sense of direction was always misapplied and now he was barren. Thrown back through countless missteps he could never make heads or tails. Bearings never gave him credence.
He had been separated from the others for hours now and there must be someone wondering about his whereabouts. War had its intrigues but sometimes one comes searching for more than war can offer. He blanked at an unfamiliar door. It was lucky that his light was reliable and the batteries were new. Perhaps he should have better planned this expedition, but then he might never have come. Dust and cobwebs were everywhere. Untouched for years. But there, fresh footprints, small.
He made his way through, more or less randomly wondering at what this place was ever used for. Dungeons must be much different now-a-days he thought. Probably not even called dungeons anymore. But he was sure the remnants of them could be found throughout the office buildings and accessories of so many modern professions. Dungeons…
What little child came down here, and for which games or hideous hiding? How so much was left behind was a mystery to him, and made him wonder what had been removed, and why? The air smelled fresher now, and he felt more familiar. Back to day light and duty, official tongue-lashings from petty minds over his pseudo-awol behaviour. But he had done the majority of those things asked of him, and thought he deserved at least this. He need not know everything from those places he visits, but only wished to take back some reminder that was genuine. Perhaps some voice left behind on this square plastic in his breast pocket.