Scarless

The Beginning

i

The Apple

I look up at the city, a broken shadow of its former self. The buildings are cracked and burnt black from the bombings, the roads sizzling with dying flames under the evening sun. I see small silhouettes moving from window to window and street to street. I can hear faint yelling in the distance over the pounding of my heart. I think I can hear them cocking their assault rifles and loading their snipers, but I know I don't. That would be impossible.

I look down at myself now. I'm wearing loose clothing - a white t-shirt stained with dirt and sweat and a pair of cargo pants held up by a worn brown belt. The shirt's too big. The pants are too long. But I'm too busy focusing on the dozen or so guns lining my body to care. Two AKs are strapped across my chest, a 47 and a 74, two pistols strapped to each leg, two shotguns slung over my back, a sniper rifle over my left shoulder, a hunting rifle over my right, and an mp9 and scorpion submachine gun hanging from my hip. Grenades of various types line my pockets. The rest of my body is covered with ammunition for each gun. I reflect the light and shine like fire in the setting sun.

I steady my breathing and shift my feet in the hot sand. I don't have shoes on; I don't bother anymore. They all get ruined in war. And I don't need them.

Suddenly the sand starts to rumble and bounce near my feet. I look back at the dilapidated city and see a line of tanks advancing down the main street. Their mounts swivel and the gun barrels line up on my position.

I release a shaky breath. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. Isn't that strange? That it still pounds after all this time?

I push the thought away and start stretching. Habit, really. More yelling from the city. They're waiting for the rest of the reinforcements to line up behind me so they have more targets to hit.

There are no reinforcements coming.

I start to descend as the sand tumbles past my feet. They've had enough; enemy guns start firing in bursts of orange from the windows and caved rooftops - what's remaining of them, of course. Sniper bullets whizz past me as I start to run towards the enemy army. The bullets cause geysers of sand to burst from the ground and rain down over me.

I release a pent up breath. So far I'm untouched. Then I glance back at the main street and see one of the tank guns swivel on my body.

How did I get here, I suddenly think. Memories start to race through my mind.

It fires.

I once played a game in one of my high school classes. It was an icebreaker. We were all told to describe ourselves in two adjectives. I only chose one.

Lazy.

I could have said unmotivated, or ambitious, or adventurous, or smart - but I chose "lazy." Because I think it's the best word to describe me. Those other words are things I think about but don't act on. I want to be rich. I want to travel the world. I want to learn a lot of different things. But I don't.

Because I'm lazy.

I think about this as I'm filling out an application for a job. It's a sales position with Macy's. They really shouldn't hire me - I'm a terrible employee. But, I need money.

I hesitantly fill in the rest of the boxes. Name: Eren Silver. Sex: Male. Gender: Male again. Address, employment history, etc.

I turn in my application and thank the pretty girl behind the counter, avoiding the straight path out to avoid the perfume aisle. I can't stand the smells. I'll add half a minute to my walk any day to avoid the clouds of lilac and Sex Scent by Katy Perry.