IV: Crying Rain – Lily (Innocence)

—White.

White – of unblemished innocence – falls from the unlit sky, pouring down and down, in a beautiful blossoming dance upon this graceless world of fantasy.

Pouring down and down, white becomes lilies; pouring down and down, lilies scatter delicately, upon my face, upon my sullied hands, upon the unfeeling horizon afar. Yet, all eventually crumbles down to the ground – of a tainted white – feeble and weak, as if crying out...

Tentatively, I blink – washing away the colourless petals – and a flash, a whisper, a haunting ghost promptly come back.

“Thank you, Mister!” A hand, pale, ever slightly shaking, so very tiny yet of unrelenting determination gifts me a flower – of pure white.

And a smile, pristine yet bloodied – so cruelly soaked within the mud of war – splendently blinds me for but a second; for, it holds so much radiance and warmth where one would expect it the least.

I saved that child from the constant bombardment of drones in a long forgotten eastern battlefield. That day, I thought I had saved someone – my unkind hands finally free from scarlet – and that I finally was a hero!

Yet, it was so very far from the truth… After all, nothing changed, not for him, not for the other children, not for me. Because in the end, my employer changed the very next day – a disgrace fitting for a private military contractor – and so, my conscience ultimately closed the doors to salvation.

But then, did I ever wanted salvation? Why did I even become a PMC in the first place? Was it to become a hero or…

Momentarily, I blink – colours taking shape once more – before outlining my lips with but a trembling finger.

I hate the night.

And I miss my father so dearly, he would have always hugged me so very softly and so very warmly every night – letting my worries and past melt away.

-x-

Pouring down and down, a drenching liquid, wraps me around in its cold embrace and a ragged breath – mine – whispers its ever enchanting sweetness, covering me in unwanted chills. From it, I jump back always scanning my surroundings, left from right – as my makeshift bed is scattered away.

Nothing should have been there, I know it more than anything – it isn’t real. Yet, that quiet electronic buzz doesn’t go away, always staying there, always gnarling at me little by little.

I hate it.

Then, another flash comes before me.

Scarlet, small pieces, charred flesh, panic, and an explosion. A grenade? No. A landmine? No. A drone. Simply a drone, unfeeling, uncaring, dropping death from the blue azure sky.

Where was it? Europe? The Sahel? The rainforests of Africa? Its arid mountains? Latin America? South-East Asia? Where…?

Who died? Who was it again? Was it a poor conscript, or was it Dimitri? Pavel? Georg? Léopold? Zakary?

A beat, blazing, so very burning, arises from deep within, all becomes hot; sweat flowing down my face.

Ah, right. It was his, right next to me, splashing his carmine downpour upon my face, small pieces of his being all over me. And with it, my left arm was forever fractured, detached – never going back to flesh.

I then grip my torso nails in; lips bitten, carmine spilling out. In… and out. I breathe in and out.

Yet, I could only jump forward, grasping flesh – the enemy within my palm – and throttling it, nails in and in, gripping, clenching, deeper.

It’s killed or be killed. I am human, he is not. I am worthy of living another day, he is not.

A smile emerges on my face, with the racing heat becoming stronger and stronger, flowing from my very essence – encompassing nearly all.

Knuckles of white, innocence tainted, red spilling out. I am winning, I am fate, a god of death, deciding who will live or die!

Why did I become a PMC? Right, it was for that thrill, that exhilaration! Ahah! For blood!

“-thisia,” but then a voice, feeble and weak, makes it to me, showering within its very fragility, “Athisia… please, it hurts. I d- on’t want to die… please.”

I finally look down, and a boy – young enough to be sent to the trenches – appears before me. Purple bangs covering his face, blue transparent tears flowing freely from his face, and hands – mines – on his neck, nails and red intertwined.

I gasp, before bouncing back.

Ah, the buzzing stopped.

“Arctedius… I-”

What can I say? Is there even anything to say? Am I even brave enough to confront my own sins?

“I’m sorry.” Was it me or him that uttered that phrase?

“I’m sorry to be a burden, please don’t throw me away… I’m sorry, I just wanted to see the stars, I just wanted to contemplate the distant illuminations in detail, I just wanted a better future. I’m sorry, please, don’t kill me, Athisia…”

Why is he saying sorry? I-

I blink, once, twice.

Maybe I should have pulled the trigger long ago, just like so many of my old comrades.

But then… would that boy survive?

Finally, I open up my eyes, before taking a deep breath. Then, so very hastily, I throw him away some alcohol and bandages.

And just as promptly, I swiftly flee the glamourous tower of silver – never looking back, never daring to.

I’m sorry, I’m a coward, I can’t do anything more.

A foot before the other, putting my weight in, I’m running, always running, fleeing from reality – under the cold deluge of lilies, white covering all.

I’m running, a step, two steps, and another and another one. I’m sprinting. Breath ragged, bolting, full speed, I sprint. I can’t stop, I don’t want to stop. There is nothing else awaiting me after all.

Then, I fall down, a branch splitting underneath my feet. White covers me again, drenching me in its innocence, even though I am all but tarnished.

Ah. Why can’t it be a dream? Everything happened so quickly, in a so very ethereal manner. It shouldn’t have happened…

Why? I just wanted a friend…

Yet, so very unexpectedly, a sweet and soft whisper – a passing thought – washes me within its light.

—What is a hero?

Ah.

Momentarily, I gasp.

Then, as swiftly as possible, I get back up, before sprinting in the inverse direction, from where I came from, from the dazzling tower of argent. One step, another one. It’s painful, it burns hot – my legs are crying out, my whole body feels like lead.

Heavy, everything seems now so heavy.

It feels as if the whole world is crashing down, as the rain blurs all and anything, as my vision fades, and as my heart howls in anguish.

But even then, with a shaking finger, I once again trace the outline of my lips – letting a faint smile blooms in its wake. And so, I continue on: one step, two steps, three steps, one after the another.

After all, even if my guilt doesn’t go away, I can try a little to uphold my promise with father. I have to. If not, what else will I have left?