Lexicon I

Ruins Of Life

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a harsh, golden glow over the broken landscape. War had torn through this small town in Iraq, leaving behind crumbling buildings, scorched earth, and an eerie silence. Dust hung in the air, mingling with the smell of gunpowder and decay. Captain John Price moved cautiously through the rubble, his boots crunching against fragments of shattered walls, his weapon ready. The mission was over, but his instincts told him to stay alert.

The town was dead, almost entirely wiped off the map. What little resistance they had encountered earlier in the day had been snuffed out. Task Force 141 had completed their objective, neutralizing a high-ranking target, but it was the aftermath that bothered Price. The silence. The emptiness. The sense that something was still lurking in the shadows.

He turned a corner, the remains of a once-vibrant street now a graveyard of twisted metal and debris. The place smelled of burning, of charred remains, and the faintest whiff of rot. Price's heartbeat thudded in his ears as he paused, scanning his surroundings. His instincts were telling him something wasn't right.

A faint sound broke the silence—a soft, almost inaudible whimper.

Price's grip on his rifle tightened as he stepped carefully over the wreckage, homing in on the sound. It came from behind the remains of a collapsed building, half-buried under layers of concrete and rubble. He crouched down, pushing aside broken stones with one gloved hand. There, hiding in the shadows, was a child.

A girl, no older than seven or eight, her pale face streaked with dirt and tears. Her clothes were torn, and her small frame trembled as she tried to curl deeper into the corner. Price lowered his rifle, his heart sinking at the sight. She was alone—completely, utterly alone.

"It's alright," Price said gently, lowering his voice to a reassuring tone. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The girl didn't respond, her wide, terrified eyes locked on him. Her lips trembled as if she wanted to speak but couldn't find the words. Price crouched lower, his rough, battle-worn face softening.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, slowly reaching out a hand, palm up, to show he meant no harm.

The girl blinked, her chest rising and falling rapidly. After what felt like an eternity, she shook her head—no, not hurt, just scared.

"What's your name?" Price asked.

She hesitated, then whispered, her voice barely audible. "Sasha."

Price felt a strange pull in his chest. He had seen countless tragedies over the years—innocent lives torn apart by war, people left in the wake of destruction. But there was something about this girl. Something in her eyes.

"I'm Price," he said, keeping his voice calm. "You're safe now, Sasha. I promise."

He reached out again, this time with a blanket from his pack, carefully draping it over her small frame. Slowly, cautiously, Sasha unfurled herself from the corner and allowed him to help her out of the rubble. Her legs were weak, and she stumbled, but Price caught her, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. She clung to him, her small hands gripping his jacket as if it was the only thing tethering her to the world.

"Let's get you out of here," Price murmured, feeling her head rest against his shoulder.

As they made their way back to the extraction point, Price's mind raced. There would be questions about what to do with her, whether she had family—though given the state of the town, he doubted it. She'd be sent to a refugee camp at best, but the thought of leaving her there didn't sit right with him. Not after what she'd been through.

By the time they reached the military outpost, the other soldiers gave Price a mix of confused and sympathetic glances. He carried Sasha inside, where medics checked her for injuries—none, thankfully, but the shock in her eyes told its own story.

Later that night, as the sun set and the war-torn sky faded into a deep, starless black, Price found himself sitting beside Sasha in the corner of the makeshift headquarters. She had refused to sleep, her wide red eyes staring out into the dark, as if afraid to close them.

"You'll be alright," Price said quietly, leaning back in his chair. "We'll get you somewhere safe."

Sasha didn't respond, but she slowly shifted closer to him, her small fingers brushing against his arm as if seeking comfort. Price glanced down at her, the girl who had survived something no child should ever face. He wasn't sure what made him do it, but at that moment, he made a decision.

He wouldn't let her go.

Price, the battle-hardened captain, had seen more than his share of pain and suffering. But something about Sasha stirred a deep-seated protective instinct in him. He wasn't a father—never had been, never thought he would be—but as he sat there, keeping watch over the girl who had lost everything, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he could be.