The Making of a Heartbroken Boy | ✔️

CHAPTER 2

He looked around and creased his brow, knitting them together. Where's Amadi now? His eyes darted around the green landscape, scouring the leaves and bushes. He could feel his heartbeat quickening beneath his tunic but he stayed low and looked beyond the bushes encapsulating him.

Another gunshot rang out.

And one responded, it's source between him and the frontline but very, very close. Ali looked right in front of him where Amadi kneeled, and let out a frustrated breath as he moved over to squat next to him.

He aimed at an Imperial Troop, hidden behind a lush array of ferns, slightly squeezing the trigger until a gunshot reverberated through him and he jumped, firing unexpectedly. The enemy had already fallen.

Suddenly apoplectic, Ali made to get up. He hadn't risen an inch before he was jerked back down by the sleeve of his shirt, a bullet whizzing past him into the lush green. Amadi let go of his sleeve and shot, letting out his breath satisfactorily as the man fell. "Now, you can get up," Amadi said. British, Ali glared. He stood up, but when he caught the sight of the body next to him, he kneeled again to pay respects. Then he briskly carried the young man into the leaves, Amadi dutifully parting the branches ahead, despite it being unsought for. Ali tsked at Amadi and he laid the boy down on the ground, kneeling again, and pricked a hibiscus off a nearby plant. A silent prayer escaped his lips as he placed the flower and stood. He turned away to regroup and Amadi patted him on the back gently. Ali shrugged it off and they walked back together.

***

The dream returned that night, but instead of tumbling alongside it in a strange otherworldly view, he was in it - himself - and he let it carry him straight into the morning where he currently sat, tugging on the shoulder straps of his backpack. Today was to be another day of walking, journeying - searching for the Japanese in the deep brush and vivid green-painted landscapes.

They walked until the rising sun hovered directly above the hanging branches, where patches of sunlight slipped through the drifting leaves and stung all exposed skin at the touch. Ali missed his own syndicate, his friends, his brother. He chewed the inside of his cheek and pulled his chin down, eyes still level with the head in front of him.

Today was to be another day of walking, travelling. How entertaining.

So rather than stay in front of Amadi, he jumped the line and walked behind the commander. Then, to pass time, he began counting his steps.

"So what made you join the army?" The commander asked.

"Fight you," Ali answered. He smirked to himself as he looked away.

They continued on in silence.

Suddenly, the leader lifted his arm to stop the group. Ali bent his knees and searched the shamrock ferns, his gun ready.

He bumped into the man behind him silently and he found Amadi's gaze at the back of the line.

Their worried eyes met briefly before returning to the depths of the jungle around them.

Soon, they had all turned back to the front, eyes still hunting. The British commander signalled for them to crouch but continue moving, but a soft swish passed by Ali's ear. Gunshot, Ali recognized.

Half a second later, a twinge hit the same ear, and he reached up only to find it was bleeding, clipped at the edge.

Realization struck, and just as he opened his mouth to speak, another whoosh came and went and the man behind him fell - hit.

Amadi yelped in the very back, and the commander dropped too. But one of the main rules in the field was that no matter what, the commander should never be made known to the other side.