A... Story?

It was a sunny afternoon. One that would do terrible injustice to the terrors of which I was bound to see the few minutes thereafter. Yes, I was in a training camp for army hopefuls. And yes, I was trained not to flinch at the sight of death. And yes, my country was in a state of unrest. But I was still a boy. And nothing I had ever experienced could ever have prepared me for the ordeal I would have to face...

It all seemed... A blur now... So far... Yet... Almost as if... It was just yesterday when it happened...

I distinctly remember a gleam of joy, of pure ecstacy that day as I walked out of the academy hall. Rafa'el, or "Raffy" as we'd call him, was signalling to me to join him, his grin stretching from ear to ear. With a mock salute, Raffy called out "sir" as I approached. Playing along, I gave him a salute back, trying to keep my face still as I quickly pulled my hand down and gave him a friendly punch on his stomach. The next few minutes were full of laughter and joy as Raffy chased me around camp, hopelessly trying to return the favour. I was always the better runner, years of running round the fields being the reason... I always was the troublemaker, the one the discipline master could count on to punish whenever something went wrong. The training did me good.

The chase was abruptly halted when we heard the loud coughs from a man to our east. Commander Georg, accompanied by his lovely daughter Catherine, were visibly amused by our display as both tried to hide their laughter between deep breaths and, in Cathy's case, a small handkerchief. Commander G put his hands in the air as he said "I give up. Even after completing commando training, you STILL act like kids..." Muttering to himself, he retreated to another camp, leaving Cathy alone with the two of us. Her smile, as I would never forget, had the essence of one who understood. Her eyes of ebony betrayed a sense of kindness, one only rivaled by her soft, warm hands that could comfort even the most frightened of children on the streets. In her sweet, soft voice, she said "hey commandos, no hug for a beautiful old friend of yours?" Raffy answered "Beautiful is right", to which I answered "old is right", earning a big slap aimed at my face, of which I dodged, gladly to receive on my shoulder instead. Fun and games... It all became a blur right after that... Everything happened... so fast...

A scream was heard from the other end of the garrison. In our celebration, we were lulled into a false sense of security, a sense of greatness... So we thought we were commandos now... We were soon to learn one thing. "So what?"

A group of rebels, simply known as the "Crimson Moon" with their leader codenamed "Werewolf" somehow managed to infiltrate our defenses on this day, the day that haunts me, even to this day. Everything happened so fast. I saw a canister roll towards Raffy, and then smoke... I saw Raffy, while stretching his hand out getting shot, right in the back of his head. I saw Commander G, shot between the eyes. And I saw... I saw...

They took Cathy... As the words formed in my mouth, I took a blow to my head. I suspected they never came out...

Cath...

Cathy...

All I recall after that was months of heavy drills, sweat, and more often than not, albeit silently, tears. I had failed. Not only did I fail to save Raffy and Commander G, I failed the one I secretly admired, Cathy. But worse of all, I failed because I survived, and they did not.

I grew quickly in the ranks. Maybe it was due to my skill and causing trouble, which I had channeled into work instead. Maybe it was the fact that I was a much better marksman than any other. But probably, it was due to anger, rage, and the fact that I had nothing to lose.

Before I knew it, I was captain of the guard, Assistant Commander-in-Chief, Commanding officer of the commandos. I was the leader of an army, ten thousand strong, against an enemy of which I had a blood fued with.

Then one day the news came in. 18 miles north-northeast of my main barracks, intelligence discovered whatever remains of "Crimson Moon". There was, however, a note with it. They had wished to surrender.

Rage filled my heart. My anger burned within me, the repeated words scorched my very being. "Surrender", they say. No way. Not a chance, not in this life. Ignoring orders to stand down, I took up arms and rushed into the enemy hideout, right into the heart of the "Crimson Moon".

Fueled by revenge, I was in a frenzy. A mad frenzy. Anyone in the base who stood in my way I slaughtered. Women or children, young or old. The very sight of those in crimson was like a stench to my very being. No longer would the world have to see any other, dressed in robes of crimson. I would destroy these beasts. Every one of them.

Working my way through, I finally approached a large atrium. In it a lone man stood, and old man, age taking hold of him, but unmistakenly the leader of "Crimson Moon". There I stood, face to face with the Werewolf. Unarmed, the put his hands in the air as a sign of surrender.

One shot, in between the eyes. Another, right behind his head.

Revenge.

Paid.

In an instant, everything was over. I had my revenge. I laughed aloud, expecting full joy to finally return to my life...

And then there was silence.

Reality struck.

Now what?

I had my revenge. True enough. But at what price? Dare I call them monsters? On my hands were the blood of innocent women, children...

It dawned upon me. If anyone was a monster...

I was.

And what now? I had my revenge. Now what?

I cupped my hands and put my head in them as I knelt and wept.

And then, a sharp pain in my back. Everything turned black...

And was it just me, or did I hear a sweet, soft voice calling out to me? Dressed in white, with a lovely smile and eyes of ebony?

I don't know...

I guess I never will...

MAL

:-P