Some live a life of constant hunger for intensity.
A thirst for a higher resolution of the day to day.
But would you know what to do given the chance to realize your desires?
*Sirens*
Closing the curtains isn’t enough to shut out the gloom dawning over our city. Like thunder that follows lightning, the city’s emergency alarms bellow into our homes as we watch the shoreline from the veranda, our neighbours across the water set ablaze.
Illuminating the night sky, our territories are reduced to ash and first blood is drawn. The war has begun.
In the weeks that followed the nuances of bureaucracy quickly faded away. In over our heads, out-numbered and out out-matched, and still the government opts to rather risk it all than look weak to the global community.
In less than 24 hours we had retaliated. Missiles, foot soldiers; a good chunk of our defenses squandered in the first wave. A bold, but futile move against our neighboring opposition; barely making a chink in their armour.
First came anger. Then outrage. “After all we’d done for them?” My father had business in Vuma. He always bragged about having powerful friends in high places. But now? Shame and embarrassment fill the room every time he’s asked about his ‘friends’ who are now nowhere to be seen. Eventually his mind became fear ridden like the rest of them; my family, my community, my country. We didn’t know what to make of the war. Invasions were popping off in the West, some in the North, but we could’ve never anticipated what was brewing just behind our backs. These Machien Islands have only ever known peace. My people know not of bloodshed and violence. And so, I watched them, like headless chickens, running from a fate they couldn’t escape.
By the third week the neighbors started banding together. Forming alliances; as if their wits would be enough to fend off highly trained troopers eager to chain and tame us like senseless animals. Vuma had captured the city just outside the border; sending anxiety and panic to fester amongst its next victims who were spending their last few days of freedom quarrelling on who was next to go. They were dropping us like flies. Dispelling any hope we had of coming out of this in one piece.
Slowly, the men started dwindling from the local meetings. By the end of the second month my weekly spectacle was filled with teary eyed wives and distraught children, convening in front of a smoky back drop of bombshells and explosion debris scattered across our parks and driveways.
***
We often like to think of ourselves as the hero
for the sake of self-preservation
cause the villain never walks away in one piece
but what if he could?
what if your atrocities never caught up to you?
what if your demons never haunted you?
what if villains could ride off into the sunset?
***
I know my time is coming. I assume all the friends that stopped texting have either been captured by the enemy or called for duty. I’m a cocktail of emotions, with fear feeling like a missing ingredient. As history unfolds, I grow curious about the frontlines. The smell of gunpowder. The weight of swiss army knives. Do I have it in me to take a life? My life, like most people in this country, has been comfortable. Private tutors, golf on the weekends, general middle-class amenities. But it’s never been enough for me.
But now, this war is driving everyone to the darkest corners of their being, everyone except me.
We’re destined to lose. I know it. But I’d rather take a bullet to the brain, over hiding from my capturers. My family’s efforts to stash me away in the attic only creates more room for anxiety. By now they should know my fate lies on the battlefield. With every passing minute the call to arms draws nearer to our doorstep.
***
The last man in the house, whisked away in great haste. My departure was inevitable.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound of her weeping voice as we drove off the estate. My mother made me swear that I’d come back, but we both knew it was an empty promise. Since the war began no one had heard from any of the first batch. We didn’t even know if my father was still alive.
With every passing palm tree, I feel a piece of myself wither away as the new identity I’m adopting comes charging in. Our squad commander is ruthless. A real army vet. He details how his first three squads had been wiped out, and by the looks of my fellow recruits I wasn’t confident our fate would be much different.
We’re losing most of our battles. Every drive back to base has more room than the last.
Just like our landmass, Machiens don’t exactly take up the most space. We’re a short, stout and jovial populace. Not threatening at all.
It’s no surprise that we’ve fallen victim to the resurgence of imperialism. I heard the Soths took over Zanilia just over a year ago, and Harari has been at war with Jhana for over 2 years now. There go my Olympics tickets, and they say Ambuga is a vibe in the summer.
On the evening before what is likely to be our final battle, I pace back and forth across my tent. The shrieks of pain, images of dismembered body parts and trenches smeared with blood, all cocktailed in the front of my mind.
As my death draws nearer and nearer; the fear I thought I was immune to has finally settled in every fiber of my being.
The latest appointed commander gives a rather underwhelming speech before our departure. I don’t blame him though, there’s no good way to send your soldiers off to their death. We’ve decided to roll out every truck, tank and plane we had. Our men are sparsely spread out across this fleet and yet most of the vehicles still remained empty. But the enemy sees through our attempts to appear strong and swiftly picks us off one by one.
This is it. Bullets are raining, grenades pouring down from as far as the eye can see. We’re throwing everything we’ve got at them, but it just isn’t enough. All around me bodies are dropping. All of whom are my countrymen.
All but one.
***
I spot him in the distance crawling out of what was, moments ago, a helicopter. Injured and on his last breathes; I know he’ll be easy to take out. This is it. This is my salvation.
Hastily I drag him into the trenches of the soon to be victorious. His cries for help are drowned out by the surrounding gunfire. As I cock my gun, everything I am about to give up races through my mind. My death, identity and freedom lie in the chamber of this gun. “It’s better I give it up now than to have it taken away from me later.” So, I put two bullets in him. Dark red flowing from his head. Quickly, I undress and discard his remains. ‘Andrew’. I’m Andrew now. His uniform a tight fit. This is it. This is war. In the few minutes it’s taken to assume this identity, my newly acquired nationals have won the final battle. We’ve won the war. Whilst others rejoice, my heart grows weary of the fate soon to be faced by those I’m leaving behind. I take one last look back before I begin my new life. “May they have mercy on my people.”
I haven’t had to do much to fit in. The former Andrew seemed to be a rather marginalized individual in the army, and to my relief, his community. They gave me his full personal details as I filed to collect the spoils of ‘our’ victory. Any information I couldn’t readily cough up I blamed on a concussion incurred in battle. No family, no friends. No one called to check in on me as I resumed his old life. It was a seamless undertaking. A bit surreal. I still can’t believe I’ve made it this far.
In the months that have followed I’ve suffered in silence as I watch my homeland overrun and stripped of its dignity. They caged them. Killing anyone who revolted and enslaving any women and children they felt would be useful in the future. My family, who tried so hard to conceal me from the inevitable, now sit in concentration camps dreading their ensuing persecution. If they are lucky, they’ll be afforded some time to work as cheap labour on Vuma’s newly acquired territory. Either way their lives are no longer their own.
Whilst I sit here, enjoying riches I don’t deserve and a lifestyle I never worked for. My heart throbs at the sight of these injustices.
Alas this is a pain I must endure. I escaped death. Bypassed the system. To throw that all away now would be foolish. All because of what, a little guilt? Shame? National pride? None of which equate to the suffering I would have to face had I stayed on the losing side. This is a hard pill to swallow and even harder to keep down, but the bittersweet fruit of another’s labour are enough to numb the pain.
This is it. This is war.
***
Epilogue
This story speaks to our growing desire for an escape from the mundane. The cage like societies we’ve boxed ourselves into. The un-enthusing cycle of modern life and comfortability of the 21st century. As human beings we tend to forget how strong our animal like urges are. We shy away from tending to our pleasures for fear that they may over power us. That we may take too much of a liking to them and devolve back into the very things we try so hard to separate ourselves from. When in reality pleasures and desires are the cherry on top of our existence, and giving into them is what makes it all worthwhile.
