Skyler Saunders
Bio
I will be publishing a story every Tuesday. Make sure you read the exclusive content each week to further understand the stories.
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Stories (3003)
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Love and Ammo Cans
MARPAT desert uniforms blended into the sand like copperhead snakes that slither over the landscape. The Marines took a knee. Lieutenant Colonel Whitford used a handsfree microphone in the blasted heat. He spoke with his hands always returning to a stance with his feet shoulder width apart pointing out board and his left hand over his right almost in a praying display around his navel.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
OFP
Her caramel skin couldn’t save her. Her Master’s Degree in Computer Science couldn’t save her. The rank of major couldn’t have prevented this. The blue and white sheets that stretched just under her chin only served as a modest comfort blanket from the hell that she just went through. Her mind was afire. It was 4 AM. The lights illuminated. She looked down at her bracelet which read her name and blood type. She laid in a Naval hospital and watched as the nurse entered the room to check for vitals. Nurse Vivian stood at about five foot seven inches and walked over to her and spoke. Ophelia feigned sleep.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Futurism
Where Their Chevrons Lay
He stood there like a monolith. Black as a clump of rare earth elements. He stood at the position of attention. His camouflage uniform looked slightly shabby. Some parts seemed pressed and in order while great patches looked ruffled and unkempt. He rolled his sleeves tightly, though. Silence pervaded the room of about eight other junior Marines, privates and privates first class (PFC) mainly. The hatch to the place swung open and Staff Sergeant Henley, aged twenty seven, also blue black in appearance, stepped up to the young PFC standing at attention. This was PFC Cartwright. Tears streaked his dark skin.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
Billion Dollar Smiles
Large oak desks presented newsmen and women the opportunity to sit like the panel on high and the individual sitting by herself. Dozens of tablets and digital recording devices and cameras surrounded the woman like animals’ eyes peeping out from the brush of the jungle. She wore a forest green colored suit with gold trim and a matching pillbox hat. She poured a glass of water from the large pitcher. It was chilled but had no ice in it. She breathed calmly, almost seductively. Her voluptuous figure caught the attention of the photogs who would sell her photographs for millions. The curve of her mouth said judicious. Her nose perceptive. And her eyes burned like lanterns in darkness. She moved the microphone closer. Her ebony skin matched the digital apparatus. The hearing commenced.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in The Swamp
Proper Bearing
The heat of the parking garage enveloped the Marines. Lance Corporal Stevenson Swinton worked his biceps, his triceps, his tapezius, his core. Sweat dropped like shell casings from a M240. Other lance corporals and corporals operated in similar fashion. Every move remained swift and precise. The idea was to get buff, sure. But the real reason behind all of this lifting, squatting, pressing, and yes sweating was to be the best Body Bearers. Swinton dropped the two hundred and twenty five pound bar on the bench press. He looked up at his platoon guide. A smirk found its way onto his face.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
Master Sergeant Rolls
The building looked like any office space. Instead of cubicles, just a few desks and computers occupied the area. The corporals, Cortland Carras and Samantha Hillinger sniggered. Only to themselves, however. They dared not let the gunny or staff sergeant see them laughing at the uniform of the Marine that outranked all of them in the room. Master Sergeant Kent Kipton wore the same digiprint camouflage uniform as the others. He pressed it and affixed his insignia in the proper places. The master sergeant’s sleeves caught the corporals’ attention. They looked like two flat monster truck tires rolled up just past his elbow. They looked like two soggy donuts approaching his upper arm.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
Grit and Ferocity
The studio lights seemed to permeate through every crevice. Producers and electricians and other staff members busied about the space, ensuring that this show would be a knockout. This warm summer day became belied by the artificial lights and pumping air conditioning system. Makeup and hair crews applied their talents to the two figures on stage. Jill Mackey peered at her subject for tonight with slight disdain and a little wonderment. She stood 5'9" but could not compare to the 6'8" of Mr. Taylor Goshon. Jill revealed nothing that would indicate her 57 years on this earth. She wore a purple pantsuit with pearls and buttons and matching pumps. Goshon exhibited his 63 years of life with a thin grey beard that wrapped around his visage. He wore a light blue shirt and dark suit, a grey and white striped tie, and brown loafers.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in The Swamp
Monikers
Gold and platinum balusters with encrusted diamonds sparkled like bioluminescent creatures. The king and queen stood at the top of the stairs and walked with elegance and precision. They journeyed down the spiral case with as much splendor and care as befitting royalty. Their black skin shone against the white garments that covered their bodies. The queen showed honey brown skin and donned a full length gown. She displayed relaxed, flowing blonde hair. The king’s skin showed medium brown and he sported short locks with a pristine mess dress uniform. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, a gaggle of photogs snapped pictures with flashes lighting up like bottle rockets. They made their way to the grand ballroom stage where everyone in attendance shot to their feet. “The Star-Spangled Banner” played from the live orchestra. This was America.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in The Swamp
Swift and Blithe
“You mean I can’t even get a square? No e-cigs? Nothing?” The woman shook her head no and placed a patch on her arm. Her eyes rolled back in her head. “Damn, that feels good.” This spring day, where the blossoms have burst open bearing the gifts of the trees, saw the predawn decades before the Great Transition in the state of Delaware. Before every right was respected, the lawmakers had to tinker with the apparatus. Yellin Boer, gaunt and smart in dress and appearance, strolled up to the counter to buy some nicotine gum.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Futurism
Most Advantaged
The signs read mainly the same thing. “God Bless,” “Anything Will Help,” and “Thank You.” Some were funny. Those sign holders seemed to get the most alms. One read “Why lie? I need a beer,” and yet another reads “Give me weed.” The bitter winter wind blew gusts in their faces. That holder raked in the even more spare change. The holders lined up along the street sitting on their sneakers like ogling, crouching statues with their hands on their placards. Tongues dry and cracked and faces scorched from the sun made the way from downtown Newark a challenge for the young business professionals that populated this part of town. Techies who drove to work with plaid shirts and six hundred thousand dollar expense cards passed these men and women on the regular. Most of them gave the standard, cookie cutter answer, “Get a job.” One particular woman, Kenisha Fender, took the time to appraise each sign. Her oak colored skin and her flowing locks made her unmistakable as her company’s CFO.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Journal
Strictly Aristotelian
Summer rain pattered on the rooftop like some incessant drummer pat-pat-patting this Wilmington, Delaware home. Horace Karl played an augmented reality game when the door opened. There was a shuffle of wet coats and an umbrella in the mudroom that aroused Karl’s attention.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Humans
