Alive || 86: Eighty-Six [ vers. ENG ]

laughing fox

"You're alone?"

The squadron leader's voice woke me up from my thoughts. Here he was again, talking to me.

Every time we had what we called « breaks », or more like, « moments of respite » he always found me. Whether I was locked in my room, sitting quietly in the common room, or hiding in the foliage of a tree like I was now ; every time it was the same.

I didn't have a great desire to start a discussion with the commander. To tell the truth, he was spending more time lecturing me than anything else. He was always trying to force me to join the group. I didn't like getting to know the others or spending more time with them than necessary. If I had survived all these years to reach the age to join the army it was not to make friends with those Eighty-Six but rather...

Ah. What the...

A second had barely passed between the time he had addressed me and the time I had royally ignored him. In that short time, the commander had already climbed to a branch at the same height as mine. Well, for a former soldier of the Republic of San Magnolia's Armed Forces, this should not be a very difficult exercise.

"I guess that's as high as I'm going to go."

A few bursts of laughter joined in with his reply.

Seeing him so relaxed, one would almost forget what a hell we were living in. Well, maybe it was because he didn't feel too concerned about this war where our lives were at stake.

The commander's silver orbs landed on me first before turning to the ground below. It was as if he understood what I was thinking and decided not to deny my words.

To be honest, we might have the same physical characteristics – silver hair and eyes – but I couldn't accept that we could be equal. After all, for him, as an Alba citizen of the Republic, if things turned out badly he would just have to go back home, inside these walls. But for me...

As if by reflex, my fingers closed against the piece of paper that I had been keeping in one of the pockets of my uniform for a long time. The noise resulting from this crumpling drew the attention of the commander.

"Tell me, that paper you were reading last time--"

"No."

My answer was much more brutal and cold than I had intended. No. In fact I didn't care about my tone. I had no desire to pretend. No more here. Never again.

The paper in question was an important document, a letter that my parents had given me before they left me six years earlier. I still remembered their words that day: « no one, least of all an Alba, should put their eyes on it if you want to live ».

Frankly, if that paper was so important, why didn't you throw it away or burn it?

It was precisely because I didn't have that answer to that question that I myself had never made that document disappear.