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 Abysmal Tale Number Five: The Promise of a Soldier.

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Chaos
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Posts : 259
Join date : 2009-08-07
Age : 35
Location : South Dakota

PostSubject: Abysmal Tale Number Five: The Promise of a Soldier.   Sun Aug 16, 2009 3:11 am

What defines a hero and a monster, who decides when that sacred line is crossed?

This is one I like to call, The Promise of a Soldier.


Day twenty three. It has been twenty three days in this horrible mess of a war. When the bullets and the death is not flying through the air, the bugs and the rain is. I have not seen the yellow rays of the sun in almost a month I think. The world I know is eternally green with occasional red spray to decorate the local fauna. I will never see Christmas the same way again. When I signed up for this job, I was promised to see the world and have a bright future, instead all I ever got was this killing stick and the promise of endless targets weaving through the trees. Sometimes I think I see more than the enemy out there just beyond the shadow of the tree line, sometimes I glimpse into another horrible world of formless things, bloody and vile things. I am thankful it is only a glimpse into that. I think I have been out here too long.

I used to have a name. But I am sure when they find this on my bullet ridden corpse they will try to use this to make money off of somehow, so for that cause I have forgotten my name. I am only a gun now, a simple killing machine for the supposedly greatest fighting force on the planet. I still do not like this job. I would rather have been anything else. Oh God why did I not do something else, why did I not listen to my parents, or my friends. Why did I have to be so sure of myself? I am drifting off again, forgive me. It is easy to drift off in this place, but as soon as you lose your concentration and forget where you are and what you are doing, you die. It is scaring me.

Today we are supposed to take this hill, just like we were supposed to for the past twenty three days. I had many friends in this company, they were cut down by the fire of an assault rifle, that sound will haunt me for the rest of my days. I hear it every time I close my eyes, somebody has to make this madness stop. I say we as if there are others with me, the truth is I am all that remains I am alone and believed to be dead by both sides of this brutal and barbaric war. The nights are filled with terror and the days with endless silence. I have a promise to keep. I have seventy-five promises to keep, deaths to avenge. I am a hunter, the last hunter.

I am the monster, or at least I think I am. I used to be somebody else, images flash through my mind of a child I knew once. One I left behind to make the world a safer place for somebody who never knew what it was like to be in danger to begin with. The trees and the ground are always wet with the rain. I move like those shadows I see, silent and deadly towards the top of this cursed hill. I hear movement; it’s a scouting patrol looking for enemies, looking for me. I have been in this mire for so long I am undetectable by smell and I am stealthy enough to remain hidden from the killers, for now.

Night comes like the specter of death killing the daylight again, I am used to this by now but what I am not used to, it the interruption of the twilight, with manmade lights. There it is, I had reached my destination and I am horrified at what I see here. I see more old men and women, and worse, I see children. They were fighting so hard to protect a village, now I understand their motive, but this does not grant them forgiveness for what they have done to me.

I hear alien whispering in my head, telling me I must keep the promises; I must avenge and destroy them all. This voice is not mine; it is not even remotely close to anything human. And it demands death and the opening of the gates of hell, my gun feels heavier in my hands these days, but I lift it anyway. I abandon God for the first time in my life and I abandon my humanity. This is right. This is what needs to be done for the sake of the lost souls, the murdered must be avenged and justice must be done.

Philosophy of justice means nothing to me now, I tell my self that this is what it is to make things simple and easy. All the thought leaves my mind and the bloodlust begins to creep into my dying soul. I open fire and I aim and hit my target that will do the most damage to their minds. I go for the innocent first. Chaos and confusion will work for my cause. The blood of children is spilt upon the ground and my heart jumps. I am afraid to ask what it jumps for. Before they fall I am already on the move again. I have no reason for honor, or playing fair. This is war and all is fair here. In the confusion with mothers screaming over their loss, I can not stand their screaming, so I kill them too out of compassion, they now fully deserved to die.

Now the interesting part comes. The armed men rush me, just like I had planned for them to do. I had taken the heavy mini-gun as they called it. I called it friend. I was an unseen assassin and the advantage was mine. The trees hid me well as I pulled the trigger. The lead flew from my barrel into their bodies and they were cut down. It was beautiful and carnage had never been more poetic than it was right now. The blood sprayed into the air and coated the black earth. It was at this point I blacked out, I remember flashes of light, screams and the color red. I came to my senses sometime later, I must have been out of ammo because I had no guns on me. I did have a knife with chunks of flesh clinging to it yet. Not a single human remained alive; I was again alone in the dark with the voices of rage dying out finally.

I had kept my promise to my friends. But somehow I sense this is not the way I should have done things. I looked to the sky and no longer felt the presence of God or the weight of my soul any longer. Death was my reason for living now, hell was waiting for me. I could feel the heat of the flames already against my skin, begging for me to come into them for the rest of time. I suppose when they find this I will be dead, by my own hand to ensure my ticket to hell. The world may remember me as a war hero, but I will always be the monster I had always been afraid of becoming. I will miss my child, my friends and family. But they can remember me as I was, and not what I had become. Perhaps you can forgive me someday and the evil I have done can be lessened, but never erased.
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Abysmal Tale Number Five: The Promise of a Soldier.
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