It All Came Falling Down

seven

    I woke up to the sound of a commotion. Actually, the nightmares were really what made me sit up on the bed in a house I was occupying, sweating in stress. But I was too busy focusing on what was happening outside. Yelling, screaming, items breaking, glass shattering— it was chaos in the streets. And then three gunshots rang out. Getting off of the mattress, I threw on my uniform and helmet, but I left the chin straps disconnected and hanging from both sides of that headgear. 
    “Are you awake, comrade?” came Dewa Valslian’s voice. She knocked on the door.
    “Yeah! The door is unlocked; come in!” I shouted, putting on my socks and boots. The corporal walked in. “What’s going on out there.”
    “We’re rounding up Resistance insurgents. Come on,” said my partner. She led the way, taking us to the centre of the forum, where Lieutenant Truxin stood. His face was fierce and strong like iron.
    “Comrades! Give me a formation!” he ordered as some other soldiers led a dozen men, women, and children of all ages in a single file into the forum. They were bruised and bleeding and wearing dirty garments. Their hands and feet were shackled. “These filthy peasants,” he continued, “are Resistance fighters and supporters. As you know, the Anfarian military has been utterly crushed by our Freedom Forces, yet its remnants, along with these pathetic fools decided to form the Resistance. We shall teach them a lesson, then. One they shall never forget.”
    “What the hell is he doing?” I asked Valslian, but I already saw the lieutenant giving orders to his formation. The first rank raised their rifles at the prisoners.
    “Fire!” came an ear-splitting cry. And the soldiers discharged their weapons in unison. 
    “They have earned death! Hail victory!” Truxin’s voice boomed again. The crowd of soldiers cheered enthusiastically, even Dewa. Slowly, everyone began to disperse, and the corpses were in clear sight of anyone unfortunate enough to witness such an atrocity. Girls and boys with bright futures ahead of them, young men and women, and the elderly who had life’s wisdom— all equally dead for others to see.
    Before long, we had returned to our duties: seek hidden Resistance insurgents and execute them. Dewa and I were preparing to breach and clear a small house. On the third count, I kicked the door open, and she entered first. 
    “Stop!” I heard her yell. I followed her into the living room, where I noticed a white-haired woman pulling open a trapdoor that led underground. Standing next to her was a boy in his early teens, embraced by a young woman with shoulder-length hair combed to one side, scratched spectacles, and a pistol in its holster. Beneath the sweat and dust, cut lips, and fashion that reeked of Resistance insurgency, she was a breathtakingly beautiful lady with slightly tinted skin and glimmering eyes. 
    I knew that woman could not reach for her weapon, as Dewa held hers tightly and steadily aimed at her. “What the hell is this?” my partner questioned. “Hiding Resistance fighters?” 
    Dewa Valslian’s finger was just about to pull the trigger, but I knew within me, if I were even a split second slower, another family would die. I lifted my rifle and shot my partner in the back. She fell to the floor groaning in pain. I dropped my weapon and went on top of her.
    “Traitor!” she accused me, trying to fight me off. But my strength overpowered her. I struck her, landing punch after punch on her face and battered it up. 
    “For. Every. Single. Thing. We’ve. Done. Wrong.” I said one word for each blow. I didn’t even recognise her by the time I was done, and the reason I stopped was that the cuts in my knuckles became too unbearably sore for the moment. I had killed my comrade. 
    I looked up, staring straight into the muzzle of a handgun. The young woman was aiming it at me, and I raised my hands up slowly and cautiously. “Go,” she told the others. “Hurry. I love you both, and stay safe. I’ll meet up with you when everything is done.”
    As soon as the boy and the elderly woman disappeared through the trapdoor, she closed the hidden escape and concealed it with a carpet that was moved before to reveal it. She lowered her weapon already, but I didn’t dare move; I could tell from the way she looked at me before she was a quick and accurate shot. 
    When the woman was done, she walked back over to me and chuckled. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to an Esdrusian soldier, but thank you. You saved our lives.”
    I nodded, slowly lowering my arms.
    “Relax,” she laughed, taking a seat on the couch behind me. “Why’d you kill her?” She asked in a friendlier tone of voice. 
    “I— I don’t know,” I stuttered. Getting back onto my feet, I turned and faced her. “She— she was a terrible person. I’ve done terrible things with—” I broke down into tears; they were uncontrollable. “I can’t take it anymore.”
    The woman helped me sit down next to her onto the couch. “Shh. Quiet now. Can I get you anything?” she asked gently, holding me close in an embrace. 
    I shook my head. I really didn’t feel the need for anything except, strangely enough, this consolation. There was something about this woman, a power, that calmed me and made me feel safe for once in what felt like forever. She was wearing a different uniform: a maroon sleeveless top with green camouflage trousers and boots, but somehow, an enemy combatant felt more like family than my own comrades. I couldn’t seem to let go, but she did not mind it. “What is your name?” I finally whispered. 
    “Well, I go by many names,” she said, “but you can call me Hero. What is yours?”
    I giggled loudly. “My name is Kanston Wyllis. So, Hero, huh? Is that, like, what others perceive you to be?”
    “No, no,” she smiled. “It’s my nickname. Sort of the short for my actual name.”
    “But it seems to me as if the lady and the kid before would call you their hero,” I said. 
    “Yes… that was my mother and my dear younger brother. I took care of them because my father used to beat us.” Hero sighed sadly. “Sometimes, it feels as if I’m more of the motherly figure than our own mother. But anyway, what about you? What’s your story?”