Dragons Soared Across the Sky

IT WAS QUIET,

too quiet.

Those words lingered on the back of his head as he stood guard, barely getting any sleep. With a cigarette on his lips, he cornered himself near the stair far away from his daughter on the other side of the room.

Waiting.

Waiting for a hypothetical threat that may or may not exist.

No rattling sounds of machinery nor the sounds of bullets flying—almost too eerie for so-called war. At first, he thought a peaceful night would calm his mind but instead it did the opposite of what he had expected, feeding his mind with more unwanted thoughts. He hated the still silent, and hated them both which only succumbed him to his uneasiness.

Propping his cheek with his hand while staring mindlessly at the leaked drainage, dripping from the ceiling to the metal shelf below. Clank…Clank… A rather monotonous noise accompanied his night.

They stayed for the night at the convenience store. As for them, even though the night was quite peaceful, he didn’t want the circumstances to take advantage of him, but rather he took careful steps on his decision. Especially now with his daughter with him. He wouldn’t gamble any odds if something happened unexpectedly to them nor did he want her daughter to see him doing something reckless. Again.

In the early morning, he had prepared himself and took anything useful left from the convenience store—a couple of lighter and more cigarettes. Still sleeping soundly, he carried Marchen from the makeshift bed onto his back and prepared to go back to their shelter. He had to be careful as he didn’t want to wake her up yet. But a sense of pity crept up on him as he stood gazing at both reflections on the mirror.

His heavy lidded eyes etched with exhaustion, sullen from his sleepless night, as if life itself had been sucked out from his face. Regardless, no amount of the tedious nights he had, pale in comparison to what her daughter had experienced. Such delicate porcelain that could break at any time, wanting to be protected from any harm awaits.

He treasured her daughter more than anything in the world—even his own life. Even when the world turned upside down, she tried her best to be as naive as possible, unaware of her surroundings but deep down he knew, it was her way to cope—her way to survive.

Her hair hung like an unkempt vine from his shoulder. “We’ve seen better days,” he muttered, laden with a sense of longing for the old days.

He looked into his Link-Comms, and a hologram popped out from it, displaying the current time: 6:30 AM. Only thirty minutes left before the sun finally rose. He mustered up his courage and took a deep breath. “Hold on for a while, Marchen.”

A small child's voice grumbled, coming from his back. Barely awake, clutched her father tightly and rubbed her cheek against his back.

“Mama…” she murmured in her sleep. He froze for a moment, taken aback by her. It took him a bit to process how much her daughter missed her mother. It was hard to count how much time has passed since that day. A year? Eight months? Four months? To him, it felt like an eternity since he last saw her wife.

“Papa missed her too…”

His heart thudded fast for every step he took. Please be no drone today. Please be no militia or looter. Just let us survive another day. The desperate plea dwelled on his mind, clinging to every thought. But despite it, his eyes remained sharp for the entire walk. With his eyes darted left to right, scanning for the buildings around him, as if something or someone hid in the corner of his eyes.

As the morning dawn swept in, seeping its light through the morning mist. He trotted through the snow before the sun finally on its heels as if he was a rabbit running from its predator.

A dreadful feeling festered in the air around them as he glanced up at the sky. A familiar feeling burned into his memory from the start of the war. It was quick and sudden. By the blink of the eyes, everything around him had gone.

An overarching chilly wind suddenly barged in followed by a scream of jet engines cutting the peaceful morning, flying low overhead. Thunderous roar over the sky, sending an overarching chill to those who hear it.

One fighter jet trailed after the other, possibly a reconnaissance plane from its color. The high pitched whistling of the jet out of sheer horror abruptly cut off from his left and right, dogfighting over the town’s airspace.

No. No. No. Not today. He quickly lay down into the snow, taking shelter from the incoming blast. An absolute shock and despair etched on his eyes, driven by his anxiety as he held onto his daughter, shielding her. His breath became jagged. His ears throbbed. His heart thudded fast. His hands trembled as the overwhelmed sense of dread creeped in, but he had to persist to ignore it for her daughter’s sake.

A haunting sound of a jet plane forever embedded in his mind. Never had he thought that it would remind him of the first day the war began. Never had he wanted to remember it. Again.

“I’ll keep you safe, Marchen.

I promise.

I’ll keep you safe…” he murmured, repeating those words again and again.

“Papa?” A meek voice coming from her followed by a little nudge from her to his cheek.

“Cover your ears, Marchen,” he said, his voice trembling with fear. “Focus on me. Don’t look the other way; just on papa!”

“It's alright, papa.” She hesitated for a bit but she nudged her father's cheek again a bit harder than before and pointed her finger to the sky. “It's gone.”

He froze. “What?”

“The dragons in the sky.”

“Dragon?” He turned his face. A bit delirious, quenched by how many sleepless nights. He had no idea why he imagined some kind of mythical winged beasts, flying before his very own eyes; She meant the jets.

I'm going crazy, he thought. Without him realizing, he grinned a little while gracing the sun touching his face.

A chuckle escaped from Marchen, a subtle yet soothed his heart as if it was an antidote to his anxiety.

“Your face looks funny, papa.” She rested her head on his lap while looking at the trail of the jets etched faintly in the sky.

“Huh?” he replied. “What’s wrong Marchen?”

“I haven’t seen you smile for a while.”

“Oh…” A sudden burst of laughter escaped from him—a bit dumbfounded by it, while pinching her daughter's cheek.

All that worries for nothing.

—o—

They had to walk twist and turn, up and down, not because the road was made that way, but to find another way to their shelter since the snow blocking up the road after last night's snowfall.

He held her hand tightly with his raggedy gloves, afraid of letting her go. His heart would leapt out if something happened to her. But at the same time, it felt wrong if he restrained her freedom only because he had to protect her. What was it called? affection? Obsession? What a lame excuse. Truth to be told, she was just a five years old child yet she had become aware of her surroundings more and more.

“If you are tired of walking just say it.”

“Nuh-uh,” she shook her head. “Marchen is a big girl now, I could walk a long distance without papa’s help. Look!”

Marchen dashed through the snow, kicking and circling around her father as if nothing happened before. She seemed somewhat content, but something somehow bothered her as they passed by a building. She took a long look at what used to be a playground in front of a kindergarten.

“Do Marchen have to go to school after war ends, papa?” she said with a rather soft tone. “I wonder what would happen if the war never happened…” she spewed out some heavy words while her eyes kept on the playground.

“If that's what you want, papa will make it happen no matter what,” he patted her head. “In school you will meet new friends, and learn many new things. Also, read as many books as you want—”

“Like brother?” she interrupted. “He went to the military school, right, papa?”

He kneeled down and squeezed her against his chest. Military school meant nothing by today's standard, it was just another word for conscription for children, regardless of their gender and status.

Deep down, he regretted his decision to ever enroll his son into it. Although it was before the war but still, until today he had no idea what happened to her son. Whether he was still alive or dead.

“No, I’ll never send you to military school.”

“Well… that’s assuring.” She replied with a slight smile, but somehow her voice was a bit sad when she answered him.

“You don’t want to go to school?”

She shook her head. “I-i want it. I'm just a bit sad when Marchen hears that.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you will be all alone at home.”

About fifteen minutes later, they both arrived at their front of the shelter. At first he noticed nothing out of the ordinary but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone had visited their home as soon he saw a snow path leading from his shelter. Last night snowfall should’ve covered his path but this one just recently.

“Oh no,” he gasped.