Reason to exist

A reason to exist

It was as if it there were two different worlds.  The translucent sky, light breeze that carried the bubbling aroma of all kinds of enticing smells; morning coffee spells, perfume from a passing lady, pastries baked with care, that no longer existed here.  As though they had never truly been, merely part of a nostalgic longing crafted from the mind. Here, the sky could barely be seen through the grit and dirt that had ascended into the atmosphere.  The grimness seeped into the air we breathed, along with the grit and smoke, scorching our parched throats along with our spirits in the already overwhelmingly hot weather.  Food and water was brought over once every few weeks by a helicopter, hardly enough to feed the handful of soldiers stationed out in this- for lack of a better word- dump. It was the only way to reach us through the desert. Nothing consumable grew here and the forest held perils which we, as outsiders, would not be able to survive. Clearly, my neighbouring colleague agreed with my unspoken thoughts.

“What do you think they’ve brought over this time?”

The voice belonged to a female solider sitting nearby. She seemed to be in her early twenties, youthful and would have been considered quite attractive had I not just heard her tedious complaints a few moments before. Her companion and I clearly shared the same thoughts, if his facial expression was anything to go by. The only difference was that, perhaps, he cared more for her than I did.

“Don’t put your hopes up. They’re rationing it hard” a man of few words it seems, but spoken true and firm.

“We. are. soldiers” she growled through gritted teeth “we’re supposed to be protecting the front lines, a value to the country! They can’t treat us like this. We risk our lives out here”

Hastily, I converted my snort into a hideous coughing fit. Her words were ironic; we who had trained hard with the sole purpose of achieving our goals were here, sitting ducks.

“Out here doing what?” he said “We’ve been stationed out here for months now, ain’t nothing happening here. The only dangerous things here are a few natives and a couple of poisonous scorpions”

“Natives? That’s wrapping it pretty. Those things can’t even be called human anymore. They’re just waste that the government is throwing away” she countered before turning away in disgust.

Having been brought up in the slums of Britannia I was no stranger to the harsh lifestyle that seemed impossible to deviate from. I had dropped out of school to wander aimlessly till I came here, to the Army so I wasn’t particularly imitated by this speech. Indeed they were more of the type of people I was used to. It wasn’t as if I particularly desired to be here, but simply a mixture of coincidence and indifference that I was. People come and go, the world revolves as normal, and no one seems to care much aside from their own existence. The Viral’s, which was what we called the unfamiliar savages of Old Britannia from the past, was just another form of expendable existence. Some said they were infected with some sort of virus due to their appearance that differed from ours; with partially illuminate leathery textured skin, slightly deformed hands almost like claws, elongated torso and protruding veins. It was never proven that they possessed any sort of contagious disease. Still, nobody cared.

Glancing back, I noticed the man reach for a jar of gherkins. There was one left, floating piteously in the murky fluid. He sighed before settling the jar back onto the crippled table.

“You’re not eating that?”

The man shrugged, and turned away. Not wanting to put up with their dismal conversation I got up and started walking towards the outer edges of the camp. There at least, there would be no annoying voice or people, save a few patrollers. Indeed, the droning speech and murmurs of the crowd was left behind as I strode forward to an unknown destination.

As I predicted, there was little to intrude into my thoughts. I made myself comfortable, or as comfortable as one can be beneath forty one degrees of heat and settled myself onto a nearby rock between some bushes. As I sat down I couldn’t shake the feeling I wasn’t alone. The perturbing feeling lingered, neither rising nor falling. It would have given me more comfort had there been a change as opposed to the quiet indifference. It was an unsettling feeling, like one might feel knowing the world was to end but capable of nothing but waiting. As a trained soldier I was alert and ready to fight yet there was not a shadow in sight, nor any sound that would be unexpected in the hot desert environment. It was like the eerie stillness before the storm arrived without warning.

A sudden roar of wind heaved the ground up into the air and I was blinded, throwing my hands up in front of my face to shield the incoming current of hot air and sand.  The sand on surface of the ground had been heated by uncountable decades it had been lying dormant in this decaying and abandoned wasteland, its searing force like an attack itself. The leaves behind me swayed hard in the wind and a distinctive ‘thunk’ and the unmistakable sound of scraping could be heard. Heart pounding, I threw myself onto the ground and crawled forward behind the rocks. My knees locked from my position but I held still, knowing my life would be forfeit if found by the enemy.

The silence had no end as I waited for what I refuse to call fate. Fight for survival would be more fitting. Hearing nothing but hot blood course through my veins, I wondered if I had heard wrong. I shook the thought out as soon as it had knocked on the door. Denying one’s instinct and judgment proved to be fatal, something I had learned from others.  My breath caught as I heard a soft tinkering, as though something was being dragged across the ground, immobile. Unarmed and alone, I tried to calm myself, told myself to dead vegetation and wild nature.. foliage and wild nature.. Unfortunately, I wasn’t given even a tenth of the time I hoped for.

My body moved from reflex and I lashed out at the enemy, delivering a bone shattering low kick and reached out for a crushing headlock that I was taught by a certain someone from the slums. Horrified, my arm convulsed involuntarily in mid air as my grapple missed. Light-headedness kicked in from the sudden movement, black spots forming, and panic arose as my vision blurred. I knew that in this spilt second, this meaningless life could end.  Meaningless because I had done nothing.  There been nothing I wanted to do, nothing I tried to do, and so much I never even thought of doing. It was all such a waste.

My body flinched as brightness shed through once again, feeling utterly exposed and defenceless. My enemy, it seemed, had disappeared. I stumbled, searching the grounds with fleeting glances and a familiar object caught my eye. I squinted through the glow that stung my eyes and heat abruptly rose to an unbearable temperature.  Lying eleven or so meters away was my old vintage flask, a stolen object I kept for old times’ sake, twitching feebly as the wind gently caressed its steel mass. Right above the crossed icon was a huge dent that would undoubtedly match the pattern on the underside of my well stained and mud covered army boot. I sank to my knees and heaved a sigh of relief that no one had witnessed my embarrassing stunt. Ironically, the main concern of my life in danger seemed irrelevant now that the moment had passed. In the midst of my contradicting feelings, I failed to uphold a basic rule taught to me; never let your guard down.

The attack happened suddenly. Unlike before, there was no sound I picked up let alone time to resist. By the time I was able to acknowledge anything, ‘The arrow had been well aimed’ was the only thought that crossed my mind. Looking down at the protruding head that pierced my chest, it never occurred to me where the arrow had come from or that the blood oozing down from its tip was the essence of my life trickling away. No, that was the last thing on my mind – death. As my life span shorted rapidly I was more interested in the skill of the hunter, almost admiration. A stinging feeling rampaged through chest that had nothing to do with the arrow. I felt my head collide with the ground before any other thought surfaced and was distracted by the warmth of the sand; how it seemed to merge with the warmth flowing from my chest.

“how stupid… I got to live.. for 2 seconds there” I said, feeling an insane urge to laugh but only managed to cough feebly.

I inhaled, with difficulty, expecting to feel the rough grains of sand but was surprised at the pleasant smell of earth. Another smell blended in, the fragrance that lingered around fresh laundry. It was a strange but welcomed similarity. I thought I was the only one being engulfed by the hot sand. I had presumed it was my own reflection. It was not.
Coming back to reality, pulled down from my road to the unknown, the first thing I saw was a gaping hole armed with a row of buckled and blemished teeth. The stench that carried over was thick and rotten causing bile to well up in a pathetic attempt to keep out the invading smell and the enchanting smell suddenly seemed decades back in time. The creatures eyes, however, was a brilliant shimmer. The white of his eyes glinted in the sunlight, void of any irises. I could see the last of his flowing blood through the protruding veins that travelled down from his neck forming an intricate pattern that spread out across his wide shoulders and upper body. His eyes glared straight into my own and I saw his soul, his determination, love of his people, honour and braveness that allowed him to look straight ahead into my eyes, and I had the sudden urge to look away. My paralyzed body protested and gave way under the strain as my vision once again darkened. I wondered if my future, if it were to exist in heaven or hell, would be the same as this person’s. He who had such a strong spirit, and me who had never appreciated or cherished anything. This was the first time I wanted to truly fight for something, for life, and I was about to fail again.

When I woke up I was in my camp bed. The ringing I heard earlier was absent, replaced by buzzing of voices. The face of a stranger flashed through my mind before a sharp pain jolted my senses and I groaned a sound that was low volume to my ears.

“Are you alright?” someone asked. The speaker was a female dressed in a loose white coat, presumably to block the heat. She looked like a doctor. I thought she was pretty.

“..Are you ok?” she asked again, raising an eyebrow.  I suddenly understood that she must be awaiting my reply, something I was about to give eagerly except the sharp throbbing I felt earlier had returned. I looked for the source, confused. Had I slept at a wrong angle? Seeing the bandage across my chest, the memories from before hit me like a ton of steel and envision I saw earlier became clear.

“I’m surprised you survived considering the lack of medical utensils they issued us, the bastards. The arrow missed your main artillery by this much” she indicted with a tiny gap between her fingers. No doubt my artillery would’ve been slightly bigger than the less than generous space she had demonstrated, but I chose not to comment on that. I was, after all, in a slightly vulnerable position. Plus she was an attractive woman, though I liked to believe that didn’t cloud my judgment.

“You’re lucky the soldier on guard actually does his job”

I smiled weakly.

“Yeah” my voice was course and my throat sore. Doc seemed to sense my discomfort, handing me a cup of cold water that I slugged down eagerly.

Noise from outside filtered through and I stood up gingerly. The sunlight sprayed across the ground and I had the sudden urge to be outside, to mix into the crowd. The lady said something about fresh air and coming back, but I barely heard her. My body ached and I felt more alive than ever.

“It’s like I’m back in the slums” I whispered, gripping onto the tent canopy.

The guard sitting outside the tent chuckled, a faint smile on his face. He had a rugged look, and short prickles of facial hair covered half his face, but his eyes crinkled kindly when he smiled.

“That place wiped out ages ago lad. It don’t exist no more”

“No it exists. It exists here with me.  I’m a part of the slums, I’ll carry it with me to wherever I go, and a part of me will be given to the people I meet along the way and so on. Some things are replaceable, but some, some that a non tangible are not.”

I was not alone that day by the rocks: the trees, bushes and everything around had been with me, their life force vivid before my eyes. I remembered someone once said to me the soul does not reside within the body; it is not a part of the worlds mass but I exist. I exist for a reason. Wise words from an elderly patient I had thought were a fool. An unsuppressed smile curled on the corner of my lips; was it too much to hope for, a tiny human such as myself, that my soul could contribute to the world before my body joined?#

“I guess not” the guard replied.