UNMARKED GRAVES, armin arlert

2. sorrow this, sorrow that

"YOU HAVE THE MISFORTUNE OF having me, Keith Shadis, as your commandant! I do not welcome you warmly!"

It wasn't a pleasant welcome, but you wouldn't have it any way else. Five hours earlier in the watery pre-dawn, you packed your life into a bag with plenty of room left to spare. Ah, how pathetic, you had thought upon the sight of your empty room, not a single thing that had changed since the first time you found it. With everything and nothing to lose, you headed for the appointed wagon stationed at the meet-up spot instructed by the Southern division officials. When you arrived there, the stars were still wide-eyed-is everyone here? Roll call! Nice to meet you... Oh, I didn't know you enrolled, too-as you were escorted into a wagon that ushered you into your next normal.

Of course, people recognised you, such as Jean Kirsten and Thomas Wagner. A perk of being taken in by the Blaus' was that you drilled in the nooks and crannies of Trost as your own. They recognised Matthew too after they recognised you, because when there was one there was always two. Other people were unrecognisable, however, but it was without doubt everyone were pre-teens who must carve out their childhoods for mankind. By afternoon, you made it to the training grounds.

You arrived with a belly full of the final fruits of your youth. For the next three years, you would sow seeds determining your fate. Around you, other similarly-aged people were perfectly aligned in stiff posture. You replicated this stiff posture with your own body-a fist curled in front of where your heart should be-head high, chin levelled, and here you were now: badged with the Cadet Corps crest. And quite frankly, not barely an hour into the program the Commandant-Keith Shadis-was terribly pissing you off.

He made rounds around the cadets and scrubbed off their dignity by shouting incredibly loud in demand of a response. Everyone spewed some Pavlovian response about the betterment of mankind, of something that was larger than their selfish desires. Though, some were blatantly truthful to the core that it was astonishing they didn't see the ridiculousness of their pragmatism. Namely, Jean Kirsten received a hearing and a kick in the nuts for his lofty idea to secure a spot in the Military Police, which meant a leisure life within the interior-the furthest away from the titans. You wouldn't deny that it nearly made you chuckle. You couldn't deny that the you didn't blame him.

But the sound of a rough thud absconded you from your self-imploding thoughts. You looked over to the Commandant who had dropped a poor skinhead on the floor that he had been previously assaulting with scolds. You observed the queer scene and followed the Commandant's line of sight towards a fairly built brunette eating a potato with shameless intent. Oh dear, you thought dully. It was a startling contrast of casualty to the severity of the opening ceremony like oil and water. So much so, it produced an air of utter bafflement from the collective cohort. You were not deterred at the possibility that this girl had single handedly signed her contract straight for the fields without holding a pen.

"Hey." The certainty in the Commandant's face diminished to complete disbelief. "What do you think you're doing?"

The brunette stared at him and continued to eat her potato in haste, looking left and right to ensure that the Commandant was talking to her. You deadpanned at this. What the hell?

The Commandant fumed, "YOU! I'M TALKING TO YOU. WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?"

The girl deeply swallowed the potato clunks in her mouth and flawlessly transitioned into formation. "I am Sasha Braus from Daupa, South of Wall Rose!"

"Sasha Braus, huh?" The air drained dry. "What are you holding in your right hand?"

"Why are you eating a potato?"

"It's a steamed potato. I found one that was lying in the kitchen!"

You were astonished at her elegantly delivered responses. Did she have any social awareness to detect the inappropriateness of her actions, let alone remain so habitual when someone of higher status scrutinised her? Strange-just utterly strange.