ONC 2024 Shortlister
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Just one week before his marriage with a chief bloodshaman of the Kurat's army, young surgeon Genul sees his wife, Kenit, die under his care after a terrorist attack launched by the neighboring nation.
As o...
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Upon hearing the puzzling news from the young mailer, Genul's fingers tightened on the round pommel of the door, dark wood stubbing his palm painfully. His hand remained there for a moment, shaking.
With the side of his face reflecting the light of a street lantern, the mailer was staring at Genul like he expected a response. He cleared his throat and finally spoke again, voice trembling and eyes turned to the floor, "All of my most profound sentiments, Surig ApKelari."
The sadness in the statement made Genul catch up with the mailer's announcement. "What do you mean tragic accident?" he asked. "How?"
"I would not know to elucidate you, Surig. The army's departments of order will soon handle the communication through the State's Journal. All I can say for now is that there was an attack. Some speak of lighting," he said, "in the Iron Plain. Lomuratians are suspected to be behind it. There are many victims."
Genul looked toward the north, but the night sky was too dense with shadows to reveal any signs of heavy clouds. Moments ago, he had been sleeping, waiting for Kenit to return home. Now a mailer spoke of lighting in the very dry season. He wondered if this was a bad dream. Kenit always told him to ease on sweet drinks before dozing off.
All of a sudden, his thoughts were so disorganized that he could not make out the meaning of the mailer's discourse. So, he latched onto bits of words detached from each other: lighting attack, tragic accident, many victims.
He understood enough. His mouth dried up, and he felt the sudden urge to break the pommel of the door.
"Where is she?" He didn't ask if she was alive. He couldn't handle the answer to that.
"Central hospital," said the mailer dryly.
Genul wouldn't hold his tone against him. Army initiates were instructed to never drop a stance of strength and assurance. If anything, the mailer was failing at it, as his shock showed through the facade. And when he seemed to remember the principles that he had learned on the benches of the central military school, his eyes still let out the weakness he was trying to conceal.
The mailer said something he wasn't supposed to, "She is being taken care of." A mailer lived by the principles of objectivity and economy of words. They never gave hope or took it away from the suffering. As if he realized his mistake, he said, "I must leave now, Surig."
"Wait here," Genul ordered and turned around to step inside the house without waiting for a response. It was off-limits to disturb a mailer's work. At this point, the young man should be away to announce the harrowing news to other families. But Genul had one focus: Kenit.
His short-lived status as a Squadron Chief's adjunct was behind him, but the prestige of the function had stuck to him like a tattoo. He would use it to extract as much from the mailer as he was willing to let happen.
