Reminiscence of stories

military cemetery

The setting sun painted the sky in shades of darker blue that turned to pink that turned to yellow, and let its heat give way to a cool breeze.

There was something about that breeze that signified an end, a melancholic air to it that saddened me as much as it relieved me and freed me as much as its certainty burdened me.

Though, I don't think I could feel that. I was determined. I wasn't paying attention to complex feelings evoked by the sun and its symbolism. I was focused on what I had come here to do.

My boot squelched against the muddy ground and rustled against the tall grass blooming with all kinds of colourful flowers. Insects scurried or jumped or flew away as I invaded their habitat; small grasshoppers almost everywhere, a spider, there, between a purple and a pink flower, many midges, bees of course, even dragonflies, and mosquitoes, though not as many as you'd – or I'd – expect.

I even crushed a snail at one point. Felt its shell crumble under my weight and heard the crunch stomped out under my foot. I didn't stop to look.

There were two things at the top of this hill I was climbing. First was a gigantic white cross, painted pink by the setting sun. A military gravestone, around 30m high and 20m across. Second was a young girl, sat in a white shirt and red skirt and atop a picnic blanket, looking at the sunset.

As soon as I saw her, there was this shift in perspective, and suddenly, I was both the soldier climbing up that hill and the girl sat atop it.

There was hesitation in the soldier as he approached, and if the girl had noticed him, she did not show it.

She did, however, notice him. But she also knew that she would be in danger once she revealed herself completely to him, though I didn't know why.

He'll find out eventually, I thought, and the girl turned to the man. His face crumpled into a frown of... was it despair or unsurprise? Maybe both. Maybe his hope died at that moment but he had also expected it to.

I saw him take off his helmet and throw off his rifle before sitting down next to the girl atop the blanket. Wordlessly, she rested her head on his shoulder.

Together, they admired the sight of the giant cemetery that stretched far away from them, hills bedded by an ocean of blood, bearing crosses as huge as the bodies they encased.

They stayed like this until the sun had set and the dimming sky le the stars appear, until there was nothing more than a slightly bluer glow over the horizon where the sun had put itself to rest.

Her head on his shoulder, she felt his arm tremble as it reached for his handgun. She did not move, not because she was frightened, but because she knew that this was the end, for the both of them.

She watched patiently as he cocked the gun and put it to her head, still on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and BANG.

There was the sound of the explosion and the rigging in his ears and the smell of the powder in his nose as well as the heat of the shot and its force. But more importantly, there was the weight of the cadaver against him, and the trickle of still hot blood running from his neck down his torso underneath his uniform.

I wanted to cry. It felt as though my heart had gotten torn to shreds, as though I had committed the most unforgivable crime with no comebacks. I started questioning whether this all was even real or not. It didn't feel like it. Was that a good sign? Then why did I feel so, so, so bad. Why was I crying even though I was not.

The soldier did not cry. The soldier did not feel what I felt because the soldier did not want to feel. In his numbness, the soldier put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

There was a bang, heat and pain that did not last a second before everything shut to black.