It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that I have faith in my people to see justice, it doesn't matter that I desire peace with the sky people. My people want blood for the entire village that burned when they fell from the sky, they want them to feel pain, to suffer for what they did to our brothers and sisters. Then again it seems they knowingly forget the people we ourselves have slayed, how each raised burn mark on our flesh is how many civilians and soldiers we have killed. They forget how their bodies are littered with the burns from even the young age of seven, and how they wear them as trophies of war.
They believe we are warriors, and all we want is what is ours and if blood must be poured into our chalices then so be it. I believe we are not warriors but monsters who choose not to acknowledge the thousands of unmarked graves, the billions upon billions of ashes cast into the air from massacres and burning at the tips of our fingers. I want the blood bath to stop running before we slaughter ourselves for the mountain men. I will admit I have raised a blade to a man's throat but I have never slit it open. I have shot an arrow but I have never aimed at another human. I have broken men's bones but I have not rendered them weak. I show mercy to my fellow man but I am seen as weak.
They think the sky people are cruel, ruthless savages who want to tear each layer of our flesh one by one. I have only seen a small number of their people before,three boys and two girls, none of them older than eighteen and it was for a moment I viewed their behaviour. They spoke English just as our people do, they all wore clothes similar to one another just as our people do, they viewed the river in awe and innocence just as our children would do. They were practically children that just wanted to see the world, so why were they called savages?
It was clear they were all healthy yet none of them could swim and had built a rope to swing across the river like they did in the books I heard about. They fought over it like babies battling over the last pacifier. Eventually a freakishly tall, pale skinny boy with goggles got the first swing and reached my side. I backed away slightly in case he sensed my presence, but he looked around aimlessly and gave them the all clear. It was at that moment, he was pierced by a spear in the chest and attached limply to the tree in front of me.
I heard the group scatter away dragging the blond girl screaming at them to turn back to save the boy. She kept calling Jasper, what an unusual name for a boy. Once their heavy feet and continuous yelling and bickering had ceased I looked to see the boy called Jasper. He was becoming scarily paler than he already was, yet he was darker in a way. The spear missed his heart but only by an inch, and clearly hadn't hit a vital organ otherwise he couldn't be moving whatsoever. His chest was rising and dropping so he was still breathing, he was alive but only just. His head was limp yet facing my direction. I raised it carefully, in case he was to bite me. His features were darker and yet his brown eyes were filled with excitement, blocked by glass tears which dripped from his eyes. He put so much emphasis on blinking it was pitiable. He weakly opened his mouth to speak but I placed my finger on his lips,
"Sssh, Spaceman. I he-help you yes?" I said slightly confused with my attempt to communicate with him.
He flinched, looking at me with fright for a moment as I took hold of the spear. His emotions change quite quickly as he nods lightly as a sign that I remove the spear. Weakly, he lifted my arm away from his lip to permit him to speak,
"Just do it, fast and painless right?" he laughed timidly.
He thought dying was a joke, he wanted to live and would not embrace death like our warriors would. I took hold of the spear now with both hands, ready to pull but he then took my right hand,
"Hold my hand, please. Might make the pain a bit more bearable."
It was that weak, heart felt gesture that triggered something in me. I felt something that I had never felt before, it was warm and slightly painful. I felt weakened by a boy struggling to in a battle for his life. I nodded and took hold of his hand and somehow felt his small embrace kill the pain I felt and and yanked out the spear from his chest. His screams were unbearable, worse than the screams of people who have had their throats sliced, torn to pieces by an animal, burned in the fog. Worse part was I did not get all the spear out of his chest, his blood started to gush out like a red waterfall blocking my view of the wood still pierced into his chest. Jasper's limp body sunk to the base of the tree as he gasped for air. I held the blood covered spear to my nose and smelt it. Poison, a poison so strong a drop could stop the heart. Although colourless it gives off an intense odour and it is used by one grounder in particular. Joshua. Joshua enjoys drowning the tips of all his spears and blades with it so his victims would not stand a chance. I looked down at Jasper who was surprisingly still breathing, I didn't even notice that his grip loosened in my hand let alone it drop to his side. He was a deadly shade of white but his eyes still full of life as his shirt now dripped with his own blood.
