Sparks flew off from the raging flame in the
fireplace. The yellow danced with the orange, spreading heat across the
room. A rickety rocking chair was placed
before the fire, bearing a man almost as old as some of the cracks running
through the chair. Like a lethargic pendulum, he swayed back and forth in
continuous motion. In his scarred hands he clasped a mug of hot coffee, the
heat pouring into his body. He held the mug with a drunken gentleness – strange
for a retired warrior. The thick aroma of coffee, mixed with the scent of Winter,
created an ideal ambience for one to ponder. The old man’s eyes were lost
amidst the seemingly endless sheet of white. His mind was replaying the same
old memory.
It was 1975, and the man was
in his early twenties. Then, strong and exuberant, he had joined the army. He
hoped to earn enough to resolve the financial crisis of the family, although
the cost may well be his life. Within a few days, he realized the nature of the
job and the discipline it demanded. Being a person of impatient disposition, he
was unfit for a soldier life. He had to endure rigorous training sessions,
intense and merciless combat practice, explosive weapon and machinery handling,
etc. Yet, with the image of his starving and desperate family vividly floating
in his mind, he came out first in his class. By the end of initiation, his body
was scathed with marks and wounds.
The new life transformed the
man in every aspect possible. His clumsy, ungainly movements were replaced by controlled
and dexterous reflexes. His restless mind was converted into one with calmness
and precision. He even started drinking his tea differently, holding the cup
with unnecessary force – which he couldn’t help – and cooling it with silent
stirs of a silver spoon.
By the time of the first battle,
the day the soldiers had all been preparing for, it was mid-Winter and
everything was enveloped in snow. To succeed, it was crucial for the entire
troop to perform immaculately and collectively.
The words of their commander in chief, General Walter, had left an
indelible effect on the man. “No matter how much training you do, the best
soldiers are the ones with obedience”. However, young and inexperienced, the
man wasn’t able to decipher the weight of the words – until it was too late. When
the location of the battleground was revealed, the man felt his stomach ache, a
longing sensation filled with nostalgia. It was beside his village – his home.
A wide snow-covered field
spread out in front of them with large mountains surrounding them. A fume of
white danced in the air as the man let out a deep breath. He gripped his gun
with cold fingers. The battle began exactly at 8:01am. The rest seemed like a
bloody blur; people falling, gunshots sounding, screams and yells. However, the
man remained impassive throughout – his teeth gritted, eyes burning and his
fingers singing against the red-hot barrel of his weapon.
By afternoon, it was evident
that they were losing; with half their men deceased or injured, there was no
way they could win. All their cannons had been used up – except for one. “Aim
it at their leader and fire” General Walter had ordered. But the man had a
better idea. Without another thought, he impatiently shoved his way to the
cannon and aimed it at the mountain. “No, Briggs, DON’T!” Walter had yelled.
But all Briggs could hear was the cheers and applause he would receive once he
executed his plan. He knew it would work, and the thought of being able to make
his sensei proud filled him with a tingling sensation. He fired; an enormous
pile of snow came charging down. The man, Briggs, had planned for the snow to
engulf their adversary, overlooking the fact that it might destroy them as
well. His life flashed before his eyes as the realization sunk in. The cannon
triggered an avalanche so large that it wiped out the entire troop, the enemies
and Brigg’s village. Only 3 survived – Briggs, and two of his fellow soldiers,
who were the youngest and fastest runners. But even they were left with
ineffaceable bruises and injuries.
****
The old man’s hand shook
slightly, drops of hot coffee soaked into his shirt. The sudden warmth brought
him back from his reverie. That was the day Briggs lost everyone. His beloved
family and troop were all buried under his frivolous blunder. Every now and
then, he would conjure delusions of his family talking to him or smiling at
him, only to realize he was hallucinating. The guilt haunted him like a
sanguinary ghost – interrupting his siesta, clogging up every corner of his
thoughts and provoking sudden waves of depression. Each of his nightmares was
characterized by blood, avalanches and the echo of Walter’s words. Briggs wiped
his shirt, placed the mug on the table and closed his eyes as everything turned
to white. Like a broken record, the memories began again.
~ Noyolee
~ Noyolee
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