Lexine Meiriona as Alinix, The Fantasy Writer

The Life Spared to Kill Thousands

Humans. They do everything to leave a legacy, be it from a good reputation or not. They know they can't escape Death (which is my friend, by the way), so they make a way or so to be remembered. Like this notable figure who has had painted all these poor quality paintings here (not that I paint, too). If not for his infamous leadership, he would not have gotten a space in this museum. I've heard he had been one such of a badass ruler during his reign. I know this from experience, too, since I've fought along the Allied Forces to bring down Badass Hitler and the Axis during the Second World War. But I've fought with the Filipinos then to stop the Japanese Occupation there.

I can attest to the tagline, "History repeats itself," though. Not exactly the same. No. I've seen civilizations rise, and then fall. The cause is all the same: Power. Humans do everything for power. Power over a lesser power. The strong over the weak. War after war. Death after death.

My friend, Death, is canty when there is bloodshed while I fight with the human race to restore peace. "At least, you don't die," Death always says when I tell it it's rude to cheer at the fall of others.

And yes, I don't die. People call my kind, immortal. They envy immortals, I don't know why. While humans live to enjoy their short lives, I, on the other hand, have to find ways to enjoy this infinite life just to make myself believe that I'm actually living. It can be boring to live for thousands of years with only one routine, you know. It is Kronos, the time god to thank. He has given me this pocket watch. A pocket watch that can get me to places and events in the past, and even the future. Yes, time travel. It's not timey-wimey, though. And no space travel. Sorry for the disappointment.

Time travel is dull; it happens within the blink of an eye. You just set the date where you want to go and attach the pocket watch to a thing that is closely related to the date—it works like a portal. Voila, you are there.

"No touching of the paintings," says the the guard. I can't blame him. Who would trust a sixteen-year old looking hipster in a historical museum? I wouldn't, either, if I were in his shoes. But I am not so...

I smile. I set the date and time: 28 September 1918, 7:00 PM. I wish to exaggerate my coming in the middle of the First World War, but I can't. It would make me unconvincing. I am here, actually, I think.

Oh. Cool. I see the same "Smoking Tank (1916)" painting in somebody's storage room. It's quite dark—

"Runter! Wer bist du?" For all I know, I'm on my knees, back aching. This man must've hit me with the butt of his gun. Shit.

Before he could even think of lighting his dyno torch, I immediately morph into Adolf Hitler, and with his distinct accent say, "Gefreiter Adolf Hitler, Herr!"

Apart from immortality, I also have the gift of adaptability. Like a caterpillar that goes into the process of metamorphosis to become a beautiful insect—a butterfly. Many times this gift has saved me, not from Death, but from causing a commotion. It's hard to deal with unyielding humans. Believe me, I've tried and tested if they would admit that they're on the weak side of the argument. Oftentimes, they don't. Why, it would look like they're demeaning themselves.

"Herr Gefreiter, what are you doing here? The British troops are advancing tonight," he speaks in a thick German accent. He helps me to stand.

"I am looking for this certain tiara. It's filled with emeralds. Have you seen it?" I ask, concealing my trembling hands.

"It's—"

Even from the basement, I can hear the outcry of men, the vanguards of the German military. Then, I hear a loud sound, which I recall is from a cannon. One second later, I am breathing dust. Looking up, the floorboards are damaged. "Quick. Help your comrades!"

"Aye, Gefreiter Herr." He salutes, then leaves.

I return to the hipster me. I wonder about his reaction when he sees the real Badass Hitler commanding his platoon. It's an entertainment I would pay for, certainly.

I need to find that tiara! Death says it is one of the keys to make me mortal. I don't like seeing anyone get hurt. Worse is the feeling that I have a pile of this sighting that has accumulated through the years.

Another cannon fires.

I look for the tiara still, but to no avail. I run upstairs to evaluate the situation. Debris of every infrastructure obstructs the roads. Limp men. More deaths.

I hide in the shadows for a while. I want to have a talk with the Badass. While lurking in the shadows, I have seen the defeat of Germany in the Battle of Ypres. One notable scene that has caught my attention is when a British soldier aims his rifle at the wounded German soldier in the name of Adolf Hitler.

Hitler's leg is badly injured. The British troops are raiding the German army's headquarters. So, it's true, then, what I've read in the Internet. This British soldier, out of compassion and the etiquette not to kill already injured people, lowers his gun. Hitler gestures his thanks, before the soldier leaves.

Little did he know, this soldier will have a regret he will carry for the rest of his life. He's just spared the life of one who will kill thousands in his reign.

I morph into a Soldat (who is now dead in front of me) and run to help Hitler. "Herr, are you still with me?" I make the initial tests to know if he's conscious.

"Aye, brother," he says, pain evident in his voice. Had I not known of the future, I would have fooled myself into believing he could lead a country to prosperity and harmony.

"Gefreiter Herr, I will call the medics. Please stay awake." Off I go for help.

For two months, he hs been out of the battlefield and that means, I haven't had the chance to talk to him. In short, this mission is a boring one.

"Can we bargain, Death?" I tell it when we reach a barren land. Death, by the way, has the beauty of Adonis, but in no way a male or female. Maybe, this is the reason some teenage girls commit suicide—they have seen Death.

Death has no reply, but I know it is waiting to hear my deal. "Can you take away Hitler's life in this year 1918?"

It laughs. I don't admit it, but I find its laughter creepy like a blackhole vacuuming the space.

"Of course not. One, if I do that, multiple deaths would be reduced; I'd starve. Two, a humanely moral immortal like yourself is asking for the death of someone? Three, we don't allow time paradox, do we?"

I roll my eyes at it. "Fine. I'll find him again in another time, and at least, reduce the casualties, even if it means starving you. You have 7 billion people to wait for, anyway."