Ashes, Ashes

The deadly force, in uniforms of black, marched uniformly towards the log cabin. Each uniform wore the blood-red AMC patch stitched into the fabric on the left shoulder. Black boots, hitting the ground simultaneously, sent ashes from the ground shooting into the air. The force marched through the charred remains of a forest cold and dark, like the souls of their commanders. While the men marched weapons drawn, David slept inside with one eye open. He never dared to sleep soundly. In a matter of seconds, he might have to hurriedly sling on his pack and sprint out into the frigid air. The cold, bitter, wind always faintly reminded him of long forgotten winters from his childhood. He reached out to memories stored in the farthest capacities of his mind, desperate to cling onto something, anything from the past. Before the fires.They were all too distant, too blurred for him to grasp. Years of untruths and propaganda clouded his mind. Were the memories he desperately longed to recall even true, real? Had they ever been? Feasibly, his faint recollections were merely more fabrications by the AMC. Nothing was his anymore, not even memories. David knew he remembered winter, whether it was real or fictitious.There was no winter today; the seasons had not changed since the fires. The ashes filled the gray earth. Gray ashen skies blocked the sun, leaving every man pale and anemic, every child rachitic.



Black boots crunched against the ground in unison. As they approached the cabin, they disassembled and flanked out around all sides in complete silence. Every man robot-like in demeanor. One man’s AMC patch was white with a gleaming star underneath the lettering. He was tall and severely thin with a noticeable limp. Hair gray-white with a coating of ashes. In body, just another victim, grown weak and frail. In mind however, he was pure evil incarnate. He had grinned at the sight of cold corpses of countless infants.Stood in emotionless silence at the sound of their screams of agony. Tomas Geisel was no different from any other AMC leader. The Selection Ceremony was necessary and routine. Geisel and his comrades saw murder of innocent life as just that. Routine. With a triumphant smile, he stepped out from among the mass of soldiers. Down goes another rebel, he thought. So routine. He advanced towards the cabin door with full confidence. He was in control.



David awoke. He had been dreaming of her again. He did that often, she was his only true memory left. She was no fabrication; he had no doubt. His love was still as strong as the first moment they had met. Not even death can diminish true love. One eye open, he heard nothing outside.Suddenly, he glimpsed a figure dart by the window. Some disturbance within the pitch black of the night. It went so quickly, he debated if he was simply delusional. Entirely plausible. He wanted to believe it was imagination, but experience had instructed him otherwise. Take no chances. In a swift motion, he leaped up from the cold floor and grabbed his pack. He trusted his intuition. That had been no illusion. David grabbed the blanket and shoved it in hurriedly. He zipped up the pack and slung it over his shoulder. A thunderous pound came from outside the wooden door. It shook violently, almost coming off the hinges.



“AMC, come out now hands up. You are surrounded, escape is not an option.”



His instinct never failed. Completely surrounded, escape was not an option.



But David Mahana had never played by their rules. He wrote his own.