Reunion The alarm went off, Seven A.M, as it did every morning.

And, as he did every mor ning, the monster of a man who in his hay-day had been known as The Heavy, asked himself why he still used an alarm when every morning without fail, he was awak e for quite some time before it went off. lying in bed, daydreaming, reminiscing . but unlike every other morning, he did not smile as he looked over and stopped the noise. Nor was it a frown, but a lack of emotion, as if he was upset, but t oo tired to show it. His legs slid off the bed and into the pair of warm slipper s that waited beside it, as usual. he stood tall, 6 foot at least. he walked, so rely, towards the bathroom. an old and creaky body for a man so powerful at a ti me in his life that had passed him by. he wandered into his bathroom to perform the usual morning rituals. He proceeded to brush his teeth and wash his face. as he did so, he caught a gl impse of himself in the mirror. Nothing new, nothing special. just an aged man w ith a hell of a past and a story or two to go with it. he shuffled out to the ki tchen, still in his morning robe and, of course, the fluffy slippers. he sat at his table, sipping Coffee from his mug. 2 sugars and milk, again, as usual. as h e looked out the window at the blue sky and sunny day outside, he realized that the day was, perfect, so to speak. too perfect for the events that were to come, that the heavy knew, were to come. Though he had finished his coffee many momen ts ago, he still sat there, unintentionally performing what has come to be known as the thousand yard stare. He wandered back to his bedroom after awakening fro m his unforgettable memories, and began to get ready. He pulled up a pair of bla ck trousers, into which he tucked a black shirt which had been buttoned, slowly, and carefully. his fingers were massive, as was the rest of him, and small move ments had only become more difficult with age, so buttoning a shirt was an arduo us task. he sat down on the side of his bed and tied his black dress shoes, whic h he had polished to a high-mirror shine the night before. he stood up, brushed himself down and walked back out to his living room. he paced back and forth, wa iting for the knock at the door that was to come.. and so it did. with that, he walked to the door and pulled it open. for the first time that day , perhaps for all the wrong reasons, he grinned. Hello, old friend. came a voice f rom outside. a voice with a distinct accent, one the heavy had become all too ac customed to in his time. the accent of the voice from outside, was of course, th at of germany. In front of the heavy stood, of course, The Medic. Standing perfectly straight, with heels cocked together and hands behind his back. Old habits die hard, as th ey say. still wearing the same glasses with the small, tarnished silver frames, he stood with an exhausted smile on his face, much the same as his friend stood opposite him. That which indicates that the joy of seeing someone whom you were once this close with could not be expressed on a face as old and tired as either of theirs. they shook hand with their right, and embraced each other in an over -the-shoulder manner with the left. The Medic was welcomed into the house just a s you would expect. they sat across from one another at the small coffee table f acing the window. the medic was wearing clothes similar, if not identical to the heavys. Black trousers with dress shoes and a fine shirt to go with it. the medi c also wore a black suit jacket, completing the ensemble. So, my dear friend, how are you? The medic inquired with the upmost sincerity. after not seeing each oth er in over two years, they were looking forward to becoming re-acquainted. and i n the deep, rumbling voice that he had become known for, the heavy responded. goo d my friend, good. it has been too long, i think, since we last spoke. the medic smiled. i couldnt agree more, we have to be sure to meet again, soon. the heavys smi le fell at the thought that entered his mind. ...Perhaps, under better circumstan ces. at this, the cheerful grin worn by the german dropped into a solemn look of

disappointment and worry. So when is he coming? The heavy asked. i suspect hell arrive any moment now, so you may want to get ready. i suppose well be off when he gets here. the medic said, looking at the vintage style watch with a thin leather band that was strapped to his wrist. with that, the heavy got up , out of the chair and went to his bedroom closet. He removed a large suit jacket from its coat hanger and draped it around his bro ad shoulders. then, from a shelf up on top, above where all the clothes were sto red, he pulled down a small cardboard box, a little smaller than a shoe-box. alt hough he didnt recognize it in the slightest, it seemed to have awoken some extre mely far-gone memory. one that one part of his brain seemed to remember and be a ware of, but that he himself does not. he walked slowly over to his small, woode n table that sat next to his bed and set it down. it was caked in a layer of dus t that suggested it hadnt been opened in years, possibly decades. as he opened it , a puff of stale air was released. inside the box laid several medals, ranging in color and shape. he removed a select few from the box and placed them upon hi s chest, straight and proper. after dusting them and giving them a quick but tho rough polish, of course. as he went to place the lid back on the box that reeked of old, he saw that something else was inside. something below the medals which he had deemed unworthy to be worn on a day like today, and therefore had been l eft in the box. he reached in and pulled it out. only once he had blown away the dust that obscured the object did he realize it was a piece of cardboard, the t ype you would expect to find in a vintage polaroid camera. he continued to remov e the grime and discovered that it was a photo from many, many years ago. black and white, it was him standing amongst friends. not any friends, some very speci al friends that he had known for quite some time. eight of them, to be exact. on e of whom was sat at his coffee table in the other room, staring peacefully out the window at the seemingly peaceful street on which his former colleague now li ved a seemingly peaceful life. The russian looked down at the photograph of him and the people who he would, and had entrusted his life to, on so many occasions . memories flooded into his head like a dam in his mind had been broken by the u ncontrollable emotion that this old photo had brought upon him. a single tear fe ll from his eye onto the thin cardboard. he quickly came to his senses and remov ed the handkerchief from his pocket to dry both his eyes and the picture. as he did so, a comforting hand came to rest on his shoulder. the medic stared down at the photo, and adjusted his glasses in disbelief. he smiled wider than he had i n years at the sight, and his eyes curved upwards as he experienced the same rus h of emotions that had flooded the heavy. how long has it been since we were all together in one place? said the towering russian as he placed the handkerchief ba ck in his pocket, and a smile began to emerge on his face once again, despite hi s eyes still being welled with the tears of an old man with too many important m emories lost due to the age that had befallen him. too long. at that moment, there was another knock at the door.