Abiit Nemine Salutato

Awoken, a young boy lays feet from his bed, head feeling heavy, and the world spinning. He tried to stand up and figure things out, but halfway through the climb, he dropped back down to the floor from a painful sensation on the top of his head. Artyom tried to raise his hands to rub his eyes, but instead grabbed his forehead to try and soothe the throbbing pain. Again, he tried to stand up, but immediately fell to the ground. The world lurched around him, and the casual spinning started lashing out in every which direction, suffocating him. Lying on the ground, his vision finally started to stabilize, and he tried one last time to stand. Slowly rising to his feet, his head hurt, but the pain was bearable; standing up, he shakes himself and tries to clear his head. As the pressure inside his head faded away, he became aware of a pain on the outside. A cool stream of blood trickled down the back of his head. “Where am I?” he groaned. Taking his head in his hands, he raked his fingers through his hair, forgetting about the blood and having to wipe them on his shirt. Returning to his senses, he starts to walk out of his bedroom, but is thrown back as a train of noise slams into him. All at once the sirens, the cries of children, and the sound of boards being ripped apart collided with his consciousness.

“Artyom!” a woman cried. “Artyom, where are you!” Again and again, the words circled around him, the voice taunting the edges of his memory. As the words grew louder, Artyom realized why he knew the voice. “Mother, what’s going on? What is…?” Artyom was cut off as his mother grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and started to rush him out of the room; barely giving him time to keep from falling on his face. He heard the screams outside growing louder, and men shouting commands that seemed to be in another language. Rushing down the hall of his home, he struggled to get a question out of his mouth, having half of his attention focused on catching his balance. “Mother, what is going on!” The mother seemed to not hear the boy, or if she did, she didn‘t give the slightest hint that she had. “What of Anna and Elena, where are my sisters?” Artyom’s dance with gravity finally showed itself to be victorious when his mother stopped dead in her tracks, and Artyom went crashing to the ground. As he began to stand up and dust himself off, he heard an ear shattering noise that shook his house, forcing him to drop back down.

Opening his eyes, through his peripheral vision, he saw mother was standing ahead of him, staring in the direction they had been running. Quietly, the mother whispered “Anna and Elena… they are right next to you.” Looking around, Artyom realized they were completely alone in the middle of what he could only describe as a nightmare. The flickering light of fires poured in from torn boards in the wall, seemingly being chased by the roar outside. Another explosion was heard and this time he saw his mothers face briefly in the light; eyes peeled back farther than eyelids should go. Tears were streaming down her face and making a turn around the edges of her teeth baring smile. “My babies can’t possibly die, I know they can‘t. No, I am a good mother, and I will protect them Artyom, they are with us right now.” The mother looked down at Artyom with her face splitting smile. Standing in a light pouring from a board ripped in the wall, something moving outside cast shadows on her face momentarily. When the light returned, her wide smile now showed a face of absolute horror. “Where did you put my babies Artyom” the mother whispered. He struggled to say “Mom, I don’t know” but was cut off by the mother’s fingers curling around his throat and lifting him up against a wall. “Artyom, where are my children!” she shrieked. A fit of laughter erupted from her as she started to slam him up against the wall. Artyom tried to scream, but he couldn’t breathe. The edges of his vision started to fade black and the last thing he saw were her now fluorescent teeth snarling at him.

Suddenly, his vision returned and he noticed the smile was missing from her face. His mother turned away from him, and started to walk down the hallway, away from Artyom. Artyom could only hear her muttering to herself as she transitioned laughing and crying loudly. Confused, and struggling to make words form from his dry throat, he yelled “Mother why is… What is going on!” Turning around, the mother noticed Artyom sitting against the wall and veins lifted themselves from her throat as she stared at him. “My children… where are my children!” the mother cried through clenched teeth. “You… you did this… you killed my babies! Oh lord! Why would you kill my precious children!” Terrified at the accusations his own mother was making of him, Artyom ran into a room across from him, and crawled under a bed in the corner. The mother casually walked outside the doorway, and looked inside the room. Staring straight ahead of her; eyes glazed over as she looked at something past him with a detached look. “I can see a thousand tiny angels dancing upon the planks, and they are singing Artyom! They are singing that you killed my sweet children, and they can bring them back if I give you to them.” Screaming, the mother started to run from the hallway into the room toward Artyom, hands raised in the air, fingers spread as far apart as they could. Closing his eyes, Artyom tucked his knees against his chest and embraced himself for the worst.

It was quiet now. Everything was completely silent, even his screams made no noise at all. He quickly quieted his screaming, and looked to where his mother was standing. Slowly, the white of her shirt started to turn a dark color that slowly ate its way across her blouse, infecting all the white of the shirt it could. After what seemed an eternity, watching that dark color slowly devouring the cloth, she started to collapse. Artyom watched as body fell forward, her head thrown back in the air. Her hair slowly reached out in every direction; a million small hands reaching out for a rope to pull themselves to safety with. The shrieking face he remembered had disappeared, and instead a peculiar look of surprise plastered itself on. Suddenly, everything sped up and Artyom watched as his mother dropped to the floor and quickly dragged herself towards him. Arms a blur of motion, she quickly crawled twenty feet in that split second to be near the bed and whispered “The human race is a disgusting creation. Anything of beauty in this world is either destroyed, or fought over, and we never move on. Teach them Artyom, Show them that the only way for us to progress is to stop killing each other, and work together. Teach them that individual faith doesn't matter; that any faith at all is all we need.” A small smile appeared as she stared at his trembling face. “I can see a crown of feathers floating around your head; they are wonderful, aren’t they? These feathers… greatness is inside of you my son, burning you, but you fear it‘s touch. Do not be afraid, let it devour you” closing her eyes, her head hit the floor and a fine mist of blood splashed onto Artyom's quivering face.

Starting to move, he raised himself up a little and began to reach out towards his mother, when suddenly a fist seized his mother by the hair and promptly dragged her body out of the room. His breathing started to grow faster and faster as he just laid under the bed, watching his mother and a pair of boots disappear. Everything in the room started spinning again. Artyom watched everything grow dim as his mothers limp feet disappeared from the door frame.

Jolting up, Artyom smashed the top of his head against the bottom of the bed. Not quite knowing what happened, he crawled out and heard voices from outside. Artyom walked towards the door and placed his hand on the handle. Ignoring the night before, he allowed himself a smile that his sisters are outside playing, allowed himself to dream. He allowed himself to hope. Suddenly, a gunshot is fired, and a man yelling is heard in the background. Artyom stopped himself before walking out the door, and instead looked through a splash of bullet holes in the wall facing the direction he heard the noise come from. Artyom fell onto his back and had to cover his mouth to suppress a scream.

Outside, the several thousand surviving members of his town are all grouped together with their backs up against a small forest. To their left, a sign clings for its life by one chain with “Добро пожаловать в Katyn” written on it. The “Welcome to Katyn” sign was a beautifully crafted sign that the villagers of Katyn adored more than any other object in the town. The sign was made five years ago by the villagers in the town, and every person got to play a part in making it. The sign was the heart of the town, and their most prized possession. Ignoring the sign, Artyom looked back at the group and started to search for what was going on. That's when he saw it: soldiers in brown pea coats holding rifles at the mass of huddled townsfolk.

Artyom tried to scream no, but before he could, a loud “Feuer frei!’ is heard, reverberating through the trees. The soldiers started to open fire on the unarmed civilians. Artyom watched in horror as all of his friends and family start to scatter, but to no avail. Every last one of them, from the tiniest child to the most elderly adult quickly carpeted the ground outside. The village sign, the symbol of their strength, was an unreadable hanging plank, marred with blood and bullet holes. Artyom pressed himself up against the wall and slowly let his face slide down the wood, allowing the shattered wood to slowly slice his face. It seemed to be several days until the screaming stopped, and after an hour of lying against the wall, he decided to see if it all really happened. Looking through the hole in the wall, he noticed that the soldiers were gone, and the sun was rising.

Artyom cautiously walked out of the house, and walked towards the unmoving remains of his once lively friends and family. Every direction he looked, all he could see were bodies. He had only seen a dead person once, and that was when one of the elderly villagers had passed away in her sleep. At the funeral, he felt weird that all of the people were staring at a corpse, but now he felt sick that all the corpses were just staring at him. Once he reached them, he fell onto his knees and started to cry. His brain told him to go back in and hide, that there may be more of those men out, but he wouldn’t listen to it. Artyom had grown numb to it all. Everything he had and everyone he knew was taken from him this day, and he was left all alone with the results. It did not help that the bodies' glazed eyes stared at him accusingly; accusing him for having sat back and watched this all happen, and not being strong enough to change it. Clenching his hands to his side, he threw his head back and howled into the air. Not caring who heard him, because it didn’t matter anymore. He fell to the ground, and allowed his sobs to interrupt his screaming. After lying on the ground and crying for a few seconds, he was pushed back to reality, and for the first time relied on senses besides his sight. He was standing on a pile of bodies, and realized he had been pressing his face into an unrecognizable corpse, his hands clinging to clothes covered in dried blood. His nose finally allowed in the scent of the town. The fresh bodies on the ground had yet to really start decomposing, but the wind blew with a strong metallic scent. All around, he couldn’t hear a single sound; not even animals dared to tread here yet. Turning his head, there lay little Anna and Elena, boot prints on their faces with red stained white dresses on. Artyom collapsed and started to vomit. When he wiped away at his mouth, he looked down at where he had thrown up, and again realized where he was, and what he had emptied his stomach on. Without a second thought, Artyom feinted, right there amongst his funeral mourners.

“This is much more fun than working in the city ehh Grimold?” “You said it Hagen, I don’t think I’ve ever felt such a rush in all my years!” Laughing, the two faceless soldiers continued sticking their bayonets into the bodies littering the grass. Both men had long, brown pea coats on, and few medals for decoration. Their faces had no definitive shape except for their mouths. The rest were expanses of smooth, pale skin. Eyes were covered, and noses were gone. Neither of them are important men; they will live average lives, die with few friends and family, and will never taste a moment of significance.

Laughing at one of the faces of a dead man, they are both quickly shaken out of their laughter by a loud scream. “Hagen!” I know, I know” Grimmold said. “I heard it too.” With a suspicious look, Hagen loaded his rifle, and with shaking hands started to walk towards Grimmold. “Do you think it’s the red army? We need to get out of here, we need to run!” Catching the man by his collar, Grimmold pulls him back. “Fool! That was a child’s scream!” Hagen held the look of terror on his face for a moment, but a toothy grin said he finally recognized the situation. “You mean… there’s a live one to play with?” With his face splitting grin still showing, Hagen started walking towards the noise; Grimmold followed accordingly. It takes only seconds for both men to be running.

Artyom rubbed his eyes, and slowly sat up. He looked around at the bodies, but this time without fear. The most horrible thing in the world happened to him, and he came out the victor. He knew what he had to do. “I have to show them what happened here; my mother knew it too, I am special. There is a fire inside of me that burns me to my very core, and if I could only get a finger on it, I could pull it out to light my way, and help stop this genocide. I know now what it is I must do, I must believe in my faith, my people, and most importantly myself. I can change this world, I just know I can.” Looking at the palms of his hands, he turned them into fists and started to stand. His big speech was over, and reality beckoned with its crooked finger. His face melted in terror as he felt something sharp press onto the side of his head. A heavy dialect of the strange language he heard during the firing earlier is spoken behind him, accompanied by quick laughter. In that brief second, he now knew he wanted to live. He turned to attack his captors, but before he could even move, everything went black. His flame was put out by a small copper shell. The poor, poor fool... he was never to give the chance to accept how average he really was.