Excerpt from Skull

Those of you who know me (and you all don't, because this is anonymous) will know that I am a published author. I realize I'm putting myself inside the crosshairs by saying this. Those who know me personally will catch on immediately.
Though, what the heck, I'll continue at my own risk.
The novel I've published is called: Skull.
As many of you would like to believe, no - it isn't based off of the integral bone in human anatomy. Rather, it is named after the main planet in the book. Skull is a harsh, jungle world holding all sorts of secrets, making it quite the setting for a sci-fi, action packed story.
I decided to share an excerpt from the book.
It will seem unfamiliar to anyone who doesn't know the characters or plot. Just know that this is a particular scene in which humans (specifically Delta squad) come into contact with an unknown, mysterious alien species.
Please do give constructive criticism in the comment section below (it helps me immensely to determine what needs to change and what needs to stay).

Three figures came out of the thick jungle underbrush. They made soft hooting noises, like apes signaling to one another. Cody pressed his chest farther against the damp soil, putting a protective hand on Ann’s back as he did so. She looked confused; scared.

            He saw that the other members of Delta squad had tensed, their index fingers sliding soundlessly down to the triggers of their assault rifles. Harvey motioned with two fingers to Cealen, who nodded understanding and unslung his large sniper rifle.

            Cody dared a second glance at the three bipedal figures, who were slowly advancing towards them. They were roughly humanoid in shape and stature, with hard-set features and dark purple skin, almost reptilian in appearance. Most of their slimy skin was hidden underneath thick folds of silver armor. They stood at nearly three meters tall, just barely trumping Ethan’s own impressive height. One of them unleashed a double-ended saber that sparkled with electricity.

            As one of them barked an order to another in an alien tongue, Harvey grabbed Cody hard by the collar and forced him down to the ground.

            “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he scolded Cody. The poor recruit was lost for answers. His mouth had gone dry with fear.

            “What are those things?” he finally managed to utter.

            “Aliens,” Harvey explained matter-of-factly. A cautionary look swept over his face. “And they’re extremely hostile.”

Thanks again for your feedback!

Reminiscence

There once was a time when I didn't worry about things.
A time when I did not heed the significance of hard work and sacrifice.
It was a simpler time…
A time where all that mattered to me were bruised knees and soccer games. A time when all that really seemed to matter was having fun.
I remember those days fondly, and though they have long since faded into oblivion, I take comfort that I may call on them in my times of need; when responsibility and linear, adult productivity have abandoned me.
Responsibility entraps us all one day… it reaches from the complicated, rule-filled pit of society, always groping for our souls until, at last, it clasps our hand and drags us back down with it. Whilst it is a necessary, inevitable transformation, I believe that we need not completely envelope ourselves in the mundane responsibility of everyday life.
It is important - no, instrumental - that we remain creative. That the little, ambitious child in each and every one of us survive, so that we may strive to help other, future generations become like we were. Creative and fun.
We cannot allow the rules and regulations of school and work stack upon us. We must break off the chains and reclaim our rightful throne amidst the sea of law-abiding, boring societal norms. Of everything we earn in this lifetime, it is only our memories that will prevail in the final, proving moments.
It is our duty to make sure they are good ones.

Shake off your chains. Avail yourself of your limitless, child-like creativity.
 

Why the World Needs Writers

Perhaps an introduction would be moot. It would make this an uncomfortable situation, as I've never been one for niceties such as that. In truth, there's no need to introduce each other. You're the user and I'm the categorizer. We can leave it at that.
But, if you must know, my name is Sergeant Major. In truth, that's my job title. Though, I do like it when people call me that.
I don't have a real name. I gave it up along with countless others when I decided to join the military. Don't know what I'm talking about? Well, you'll forgive me if I digress a bit; it's one of my most annoying habits.
And most useful.
I serve in the ultra soldier military, home to the biggest and baddest soldiers in the galaxy. We protect the world and its inhabitants, solving problems that useless institutions can otherwise overlook. We are the best of the best, and that's not hyperbole. When a job needs doing, we're the only ones capable of accomplishing it.
Also not hyperbole.
That can be said for our more… efficient squadrons, like Delta Squad. They work out of this Hangar, treating it as their base of operations and debriefing center. I don't mind the extra company - because, it can get quite lonely in here.
I am one of the nobodies of the military. I am a categorizer. Simple as that.
My job is to categorize military hardware that comes into the Hangar and military hardware that comes out of the Hangar. It really couldn't get more simple than that.
Or more boring.
I'd much rather be out fighting the good fight alongside the powerful men of the army. They know how to have a good time, even when under pressure. But, since I'm stuck here, organizing crates and whatnot, I may as well vent. And I have the perfect canvas to do it on.
A realization hit me recently. I was given an assignment by my superior to organize the first of many crates. It seemed like any old job. But, at the same time, it was a completely new one. I realized whilst stacking this crate that my job was important. That I was making a difference in the military.
That I mattered.
Some people would say that's dangerous thinking for a grunt. Not me. Because, more than anything, it got me thinking.
It got me thinking about how instrumental a boring job like categorizing is. If not for people like me, the soldiers, who arm themselves with the denizens of those crates, would have nothing to fight with. They'd be utterly powerless in the face of terror. My duty is not just simply to stack crates, but to utilize my brethren and sisters with powerful weapons to use for the greater good.
I do not personally know what resided in this first crate. It's not my job to know.
It's yours.
You are my soldiers. By visiting my Hangar, you arm yourselves not just with the tools but the knowledge to vanquish your foes. By visiting my canvas, you are able to discover a side of you that never existed. A side that can only be unlocked by knowledge.
And that's the clearest form of expression on the battlefield.
Hangar 11 is more than just a storage unit for decommissioned hardware. It is a vibrant area, filled with crates, aircraft and more. But, most importantly, it's filled with what you put into it.
I should've realized sooner that categorizers - writers - have possibly the most important job in the universe. Because, it is only through them that the world can achieve great things.
As I continue to vent, more crates will appear. It is your job to read through them. Else, my job would be immaterial.
Let this be the beginning of a journey neither of us will forget.
Welcome to Hangar 11.