Victim of War

I haven't been up to writing a blog in a while so I decided to post one of my latest short stories. The scene described(minus the head on the tree) was a dream I had a few weeks ago, and I just fashioned a story around it. Enjoy :)

Victim of War

Everything had been silent for a long time save for the steady dripping of water in the corner. I had no notion of the time but I knew that it had been nearly a day since I last heard the guns. Nobody had come back for me yet and I feared the worse.

I made my way from the back of the bunker groping in the pitch black and dampness trying to find the door. After what seemed like ages I finally found the latch. I pushed up on the door as hard as I could until it finally gave way just enough to let the dim light of day creep in. Even though the light wasn’t very bright it hurt my eyes after being in the complete dark for almost four days. I shielded my eyes and peered out to make sure it was safe before I ventured out. I heaved the door up a little more and slipped out, easing the door down so it would shut quietly. I wrapped a handkerchief around my mouth to hide the steam of my breath in the chilly air.

The entire forest was deserted. Not a living thing stirred and everything was eerily silent. The sky was dark grey and hung low like a ceiling over the forest. I grasped the knife in my belt as I made my way through the muddy tracks of tanks and jumped over newly fallen trees, careful to make sure there were no booby traps or mines.

The trees of the forest were riddled with the holes of gunshots and there were evidences of blood here and there. I prayed that it was the blood of the enemy.

I had walked through this forest so many times as a child, it was the only place I felt safe. Its beauty brought me happiness; its life brought me comfort. I’m sixteen now and times are different; happiness is just a thing of the past to me and there is no more comfort to be found in the world.

As I made my way I came upon a rifle resting in the bracken. Ignoring the blood nearby picked I up and examined it: it was one of the enemy’s and had a nearly full clip of ammo. I felt guilty taking a weapon that had probably killed one of my neighbors but a knife is not enough to protect or feed myself.

Just as I was ready to go on my way again I heard the report of a gunshot. I crouched down on my belly, hoping I was hidden in the ferns. My heart was trying to pound itself out of my chest as I waited for what seemed like an eternity to hear something else. Finally I heard more cracks and relaxed as I realized it was just a tree falling down. Everything seems to set me on an edge these days.

My father had told me before the enemy came that after everything had fallen silent I was to go to the old oak in the meadow and look for a sign to know what to do. I was heading there now and with every step that took me closer I knew that the sign would not be good.

Suddenly I stumbled into a newly made clearing filled with smoke and a ghastly stench. Fearing that a trap would be set in the open, I skirted around the clearing, trying to see what was burning. I spotted two big piles and my empty stomach turned as I realized what was burning. Underneath the burning trees were bodies of the fallen; the stench was so overwhelming that I retched. I knew that it was the enemy that was burning though, because the enemy did not burn the bodies of dead, but left them after a battle to rot and be eaten by carrion birds. This gave me a little hope but it was hard to feel hope when you witnessed such horrible sights as this. This is war, I tell myself and move on.

When I finally come to the meadow, I hardly recognize it. Its beauty, its peacefulness has been replaced with ugliness and brutality. The green waving grasses have been burnt and blackened and tanks have turned the ground to mud. I can see the old oak on the other side, its massive limbs have been broken but the trunk still stands unmoved.

I carefully made my way through the mud, keeping my eyes on the tree. I tripped and fell into the mud. As I got up I pushed myself up on what I thought was a tree branch until I looked over and saw it was the arm of a man. Fear paralyzed me as I got up and looked around, finally realizing what I was seeing in the mud.

Bodies. Hundreds of them. Dead. My family. My friends. My neighbors. Dead. I stifled a scream and ran as fast as I could towards the old oak, trying not to stumble as I ran over the bodies.

When I came to the oak, I saw the sign, it was the sign of the enemy. I fell to my knees and covered my face.

My father’s head was nailed to the tree, his decapitated body was sitting against the base. I kneeled there frightened out of my wits, feeling alone in the world. I couldn’t understand how anybody could do something so horrible.

I knew I couldn’t stay here, but I didn’t know where to go. I knew my father would not have left me without giving some message, some hope. I crawled over to his headless body with silent tears covering my face and I went through his pockets until I encountered a note. I pulled it out and keeping my eyes on the ground I crawled to the other side of the tree.

The note was smeared with dirt and blood and was hard to make out in the dim light.

“Dearest Lise,” it read in my father’s short stroked hand-writing. “We have killed many, but we are now surrounded. There is no hope, we cannot hold out through the night. I know you are strong and you will carry on. Look for the others, they will help. You know where to look. Do not let them capture you. You are my daughter and remember to always honor your family. I love you with all my heart and I always will, never forget that.”

I folded the letter and put it away. Covering my face I cried until I could cry no more. When I was finished I had no idea how long I had been there. I had the sudden feeling that I was not alone. I looked around but there was not a living soul.

When I reached down to pick up my rifle leaned against the tree I felt the cold blade of a knife on my throat and a rough voice whispered in my ear “What do we have here?” He pulled me back roughly by my hair, keeping his knife at my throat and leaving my arms free, which was a mistake. My instincts kicked in as I grabbed my knife and stabbed him the stomach, then slit his throat before he could make a sound as he staggered back.

I could hear more voices from nearby, and one saying “Don’t kill her! Capture her alive!” I grabbed my gun and took off, running away from the voices. I could hear the footsteps of half a dozen men pursuing me. When I had gained a lead on them I turned around and took two of them out with my rifle, stopping the others in their tracks.

As I pulled the trigger and killed one more I heard somebody coming up behind me. As I started to turn around he knocked the gun out of my hands and punched me in the face, sending me to the ground. I tried to recover from the punch but he had bound my arms before I could get up again.

“Well should we have our way with her?” one of the men who had been pursing me before asked with a chuckle.

“No, the boss said he wants to see her first and if he can’t get any information out of the bitch then we can have her,” the man who had bound me answered with a wicked smile.

After the man who was in charge took my knife he slung me over his shoulder, since it was easier than forcing me to walk. My face pulsed from the punch and I could taste blood in my mouth. I felt too dizzy hanging from his shoulder to fight back.

After a while the necklace I was wearing around my neck worked its way out of my shirt and dangled down to rest on my face. The necklace was my freedom. My father had always told me that suicide was dishonorable, but betrayal was even worse. The soldiers walking behind the man who was carrying me could not see my face; I worked at the chain with my tongue until the glass vile rested between my teeth.

When we had arrived at their camp the man threw me roughly on the ground. The men saw the necklace hanging from my mouth and knew what it was. I bit down on the vile just as they yanked it out of my mouth. The glass cut my tongue and the taste of cyanide and blood was bittersweet in my mouth. When the men realized what I had done, they began showering me with blows and kicking me. My life was ended, and I prayed that the rest of the resistance would avenge the death of me and my family.