Tokay Gecko
10-13-2009, 11:12 PM
A recount of an actual dream I had a while ago. It was so vivid that I felt compelled to write it out. Also, the character at the focus of the story is an actual person in real life who held a special place in my heart.
We were on our way to the village when our group came under fire. A couple of my men and I sought out a row of thick bushes for cover. The rest dispersed into the dark forests and prepared to return fire. Behind the bushes, we took turns peeking over the leaves and lobbing a volley of bullets across the road and into the enemy. My turn came, and all my senses focused on the scene only a short distance ahead of me. I could not see the enemy, but I fired my rifle into the darkness anyways, hoping I would somehow hit my target. After a few pulls of the trigger, I threw myself violently back to the ground and began fumbling with my pack to get to an extra magazine. At that point, my eyes drifted over and found that my comrade had been struck in the head and lay dead next to me. The sight did not trouble me; this was all in a day’s work. I finished reloading my rifle and fired another round into the enemy lines, still unsure of exactly where they were hiding. Moments later, the enemy fire ceased and my troop prepared to regroup.
Later that night we arrived at the village. It was a small, relatively poor village, with a population of no more than 200. Only but a week ago our forces had managed to liberate it from the enemy. The air was quiet as we came out of the jungle and approached the main gate. There were only a few villagers still up at this hour of the night, but they stayed back in the shadows of the buildings. The village was built around a small collection of natural ponds with tall, mature trees spaced out throughout the grassy areas separating the individual pools. These trees were spaced just enough so their leaves would provide the entire area with an unbroken cover of shade during the day. The path we were taking had benches every so often and curved along the eastern end of the central park and ultimately made a loop and joined back where we had first began. Through the trees hung strings of baseball-sized orbs, spaced a couple feet apart from one another, that emitted a soft, white light that was just barely enough to aid us as we stepped across the cobble path.
I was walking the path with two of my soldiers at each of my sides. They were talking to each other and to myself in a friendly manner; making jokes here and there and telling stories. I smiled and offered a few of my own comments to the conversation, but I was really more fixated on the beautiful trees with the hanging orbs. The scene was so peaceful and dreamlike. We reached a small wooden bridge that spanned a tiny creek that flowed out of one of the ponds. At the end of the bridge we had reached the north end of the park, and I bid the soldiers farewell as they departed for their bunks. They had only just transferred into my troop, but they seemed like good fellas. I had restrained myself from creating any bonds of friendship with them, because I felt that they would be gone after a short while.
I stood alone in the silence of the night and gazed across the small fields of grass with the ponds speckled throughout. The trees still displayed their solemn orbs that seemed almost to be suspended in the air like spirits. I peered through the tunnel of dark leaves hanging over the park and saw, in the distance, a group of villagers standing together outside a featureless building that sat at the south border of the park. There were four or five of them; all were female. I could not hear anything they were saying, or make out any notable features due to the thick darkness. Suddenly, one of the faces seemed to unveil itself to me. I knew that face, it was of someone dear to me from back home. It’s not possible… I had not seen her in a very long time…
The girl held a special place in my heart, whether she knew it or not, back during the times of peace and security; living back home where we were both free to pursue the goals we had set for ourselves. Unfortunately, we had grown apart for reasons I could only blame myself for. I was too shy… even though she was right there, I chose to stay in the background. Time passed, and I worked myself into a state of apathy. The war our country had been fighting was not of major concern to people like us; we simply observed it and shook our heads. The threat was not that great and our goals not that ambitious. So life went on for a while, and I heard from one of my acquaintances that the girl dear to me had gone to visit her relatives in a foreign country. I did not think much of it at the time, for I was trying to get myself to forget everything about that face. Then, the war exploded. I was drafted and sent off to fight a campaign for my country upon the soil of a land on the other side of the world. I survived many battles and saw many faces come and go. The military molded me into a machine and I carried out my orders without question. I had no problem with dying; I should have died already. I also had no problem with killing. My comrades were expendable, and I was as well. This did not bother me. None of it bothered me. It was simply the life I had been given.
But… the country the girl had gone to…
I continued to gaze upon the shadowy figures in the distance. A blanket of sorrow crept upon me as I realized why the girls were standing there. They were prostitutes. Through the darkness, across the grass and underneath the dark, thick roof of leaves, over the whispering pools of water, my gaze was met with that of her own. How she knew I was there, I still do not know. Maybe it was just coincidence, or maybe she wasn’t looking at me at all, but something in my direction so it appeared she was looking at me. Whatever the case may be, I looked away quickly and pretended to myself as though nothing had happened, such as a schoolboy does when a cute girl catches him staring at her from afar, caught in a daydream. When I looked back, the group had disappeared. I was alone in the village now. I dropped my head and walked slowly back to my bunk, deep in thought.
The next morning, I went out to the south side of the village where I had seen the girl. She was not there at that time, of course, but something still drew me on. I passed the featureless building, which stood two stories high, and pushed open a door that led into a long hallway leading westward that fed to a few buildings and one small courtyard with a patio. In this hallway, the locals came and set up shop along the walls, selling all sorts of trinkets and produce and whatnot. There were many cracks and destroyed segments of wall and roof that opened the hall to the outside and let a warm sunshine into the room. Many of these holes in the wall were occupied by some of the locals who wished to absorb some of the good weather. The area was rather busy at this time. I traveled down about halfway of the hall until I came to a large wooden door to the left of me that was shut and locked. Vines crept up from one of the openings of the dilapidated building and covered the door. It had obviously not been opened in some time, but for some reason, I felt as though the girl might be right on the other side of the ancient door. Knowing that it would not be wise to make a scene in front of all the locals, who just barely trusted us as it is, I began walking back down the hallway, disheartened, toward the doorway I had originally entered from.
I came to the doorway, which actually consisted of two glass doors, which were unusually nice considering the problem with poverty the country had been facing for many years. Before I exited the building, I looked over to my right and saw a small indent in the wall where an old lady had set up shop. I found it odd that I did not notice her on the way in. I looked over her wares. They consisted of many small, bronze trinkets and wooden toys all arranged upon a crimson piece of cloth with yellow fringes. The whole display was covered in a thick layer of dust. I looked up at the old woman, who sat on the ground behind her display, and she looked back at me with hollow eyes. I slowly turned back to the glass doors and exited the building.
On the way back to my quarters, I replayed my interpretation of the girl’s situation over in my mind. I felt certain I knew what happened. She came to visit her relatives in a foreign country. The country was this country. The relatives resided in this village. She came when the war was still tiny embers, and the sudden ignition of the full-scale, bloody assaults engulfed the country so swiftly that there was no time to escape. After that, she was trapped. The war had taken its toll on everybody that lived in this country. People’s families were being separated; some going to war to become guerillas, some dieing at the hands of the said guerillas who regularly ravaged villages, others by the long arm of the military I currently served under. The economy was destroyed; fields were burning and businesses were being torn apart. Everybody had to crawl with every bit of their tattered will to snatch what remaining money they could in order to ensure the survival of themselves as well as their family. It was a truly desperate time for the common folk. Thus, the girl dear to me, who was now stuck in this country, was faced with the choice of life for herself and her family by whatever money she could manage to make, or death from hunger, thirst, disease, and grief. It must have been horrific for her. Back home, back when things were peaceful for us, she was always bright and virtuous. She had such a future.
The next day, I managed to muster the energy to go with a couple of other soldiers to what the locals considered to be a movie theater. It was in the northwestern part of town, a short walk from the barracks. I was, once again, accompanied by a man on either side of me. One of them was the same as a couple nights ago, while the other’s face was completely new to me. In any case, we conversed in the same meaningless manner as we had before.
The theater building appeared quite old and beat up from the outside, a feature that I had grown used to, but the inside was, again, surprisingly nice. It had wooden floors and stone walls, with a wide, well crafted staircase that led up to the second floor, where the seats for the movies were. We entered the small, dark room with a few locals who were also here for the movie and took our seats in front of the tattered cloth that served as the projection screen. The light from the projector clicked on and created a shaft of light as it passed through the clouds of dust that had been stirred up in the room by our arrival. Something about this area wasn’t right, I could sense it. My acquaintances were aware too, and we exchanged looks of concern. My hand gripped my rifle.
From the back of the room and from behind the tattered projection screen came a sudden flurry of bullets. A group of unsatisfied locals had anticipated our arrival and were attempting to assassinate us. The three of us dove behind the seats and returned fire as the other theater patrons who were obviously not part of the plot began to panic and run for an exit. The enemies let them pass out of the room since they were not their target. Shortly after the fight began, I managed to shoot down the man that was behind the tattered cloth. He slumped to the ground and lay in a pool of blood. We knew they had the main exit blocked, so we fired some covering shots and ran for a small lift that was used to get heavy supplies up to the second level. The lift was to the right of the projection screen, down a short hallway. We were about to enter when we realized there was another armed man inside the lift, but he had apparently not been expecting us just yet and was not quick enough to fire. Once the man was dispatched, we hastily crammed ourselves into the small lift and shut the metal door in front of us. We lowered ourselves down, all the while looking at our feet where the body of the man in the elevator we had slain just seconds ago lay motionless. Once we reached the bottom floor, there was no sign of the remaining attackers. Regardless, we moved through the small crowd of people in the lobby and headed back to our base. I was later informed that the people who attacked were angered by our occupation of the village and finally struck out. The remaining fighters were caught by some patrolling soldiers and were being held in prison. I knew this would happen. This village is falling apart at the seems.
All of these developments sent me into a state of panic. I still could not get the image of the girl out of my mind, and at this rate, we would soon lose control of the village, and I may never see her again. Those innocent locals in the theater who saw us kill those men will be scared, angry. This is going to flow through the community like a flood, and with each telling it will become a little more evil. Soon we will be the demons of the land who slaughter their kin.
And so it happened. The village chief requested that we remove our forces from the area. I was in the room with the officers discussing the situation. They all agreed that It would be best to move out of the area in order to avoid any further violent outbreaks. After all, this village offered no real military advantages. We were scheduled to pack up and head to a nearby base to the east as soon as possible. As for the liberated soldiers… the liberated soldiers…..
I made up my mind and rushed out of the room. Across town, to the west, barracks were constructed to house local militia soldiers who we had commandeered to fight for us after we liberated the village. I entered one of the barracks boldly and began walking quickly down the hall. It was a large, long building, with bunks for the men stacked three-high on both sides of the hall. As I walked down the hall, I began shouting in a very stern voice for all the men of the liberated militia to report to the commanders’ quarters immediately for instructions on their mission. These soldiers were crude at best. They had no uniforms; most were bare-chested. They were dirty and many were quite upset at the situation they had been forced into. I knew they had particularly unkind views toward us, but this was my last chance… I continued to shout while some of the soldiers shouted obscenities back at me, and others threw small objects at my back in an attempt to assert their defiance. I completely ignored it and continued shouting at all the soldiers to make a swift appearance at the commander’s quarters or else the consequences would be severe. As much as they hated the fact, they knew we had superior power and thus control of the situation, so they reluctantly began to prepare for their departure.
The commander’s quarters were on the southeastern side of town, which meant the army of crude, disgruntled militiamen would soon be rushing through the center of town in order to get to the commander as quick as possible. I exited the barracks and rushed toward the hallway I had been in the day before; back to the wooden door with the vines. I went as fast as I could as to not waste any time. I arrived in the hall, which was quite busy, and, as I expected, the militiamen were soon to follow. They ran through the streets, down the hallway toward the eastern side of town, and with this came much commotion among the locals. They all came out from their homes and crowded the streets to observe the soldiers jostling through the mess of confused and somewhat panicked townsfolk. This was my opportunity. I knew that everybody would be out to observe what was going on. She had to be here somewhere…
I reached the wooden door and looked at it. It was still closed tight, but for some reason, I was drawn to the small outdoor patio to the right of the door instead. There were people running and shouting all over the place. Many of them were bumping in to me in a confused stupor, yet I was still drawn up to the patio. I walked calmly up the small brick steps that led to the slightly raised courtyard. I paused at the top of the stairs and looked around. It was a small patio with a brick flooring. There were lattices with vines hanging from them on the western end of the rectangular room, and the sun shone peacefully through them. There was a slightly orange light to the room due to the setting sun and the beams of light penetrating the vines were visible as clouds of dust passed through them. Among the dust I noticed many seeds; small, airborne seeds drifting sleepily through the light. There was a short wall around the patio, upon which were little cubbies where planters sat. The planters contained an assortment of beautiful flowers of all colors. On the eastern end of the patio, there was a small, covered area where a couple tables were set up with food lining them. The room exuded a sort of peacefulness that reminds one of his childhood, where he played among the plants in the backyard, exploring the world in state of bliss, engulfed in the lifeblood of nature.
About fifteen feet in front of me, my gaze came to rest upon a girl. It was her. She stood still near the back of the room, underneath the vines, and stared directly into my eyes. Her dark eyes, dark hair, and slim figure silhouetted within a long, white dress drew all my attention in an instant even though she remained completely still. Being the over thinking soul that I am, I immediately wondered if she even remembered me. I would not be surprised if she didn’t, after all, because her life has been so eventful since we last spoke back home. Her mind must be swimming with all sorts of things that are more important than some boy from her past. Perhaps, I told myself, she is just looking at me because of my uniform. I am obviously conspicuous around this place, especially with all the civil unrest lately. What should I do? Was this all a big mistake? After all this, can I even talk to her?
My brooding was suddenly broken when a small boy grabbed my hand. I looked down at him and he smiled at me, so I smiled back at him, upon which he began to tug on my hand and lead me toward the table with the food on it. The boy was not tall enough to reach all the items on the table, and he desperately wanted some of the fish that was sitting in the back. I grabbed a couple fish and placed them on a plate and handed it to him. He smiled again and headed off to the other side of the patio. I stood there for a second, listening to the shouting and bustling of the event I had intentionally put into motion. It was odd, for the people upon the patio seemed to be much less distraught from the running militiamen and concerned locals. This patio felt like a safe haven to me.
I turned back toward the girl and realized that she was no longer looking at me. She had her gaze fixed, still, upon the area where I had stood at the top of the steps. Her gaze fell past where I was upon all the frantic people. I felt for sure she had no clue who I was; that after all this, all the torment her image brought to my heart, that she had simply forgotten I existed. I lost my nerve. I began to walk slowly back out toward the hallway with my head hung low, but then, she spoke, in perfect English with the accent of our home. “People are like ants,” she said calmly, “They follow one another blindly, to death if that be the case. It’s sad, really. These people out here, they could be so much more, if only they knew. Blindly, they go. Doing what they are told, following the crowd. Upholding principles that they do not understand. Love. Do these people understand that? To be consumed by love for another; it’s painful when that person is gone. Even more painful when that person is just out of your reach. It’s a curse, really. A wonderful curse.”
She said all of this without lifting her gaze from the crowd. I desperately wanted to say something. She spoke in English to me. There was no mistaking it. She must have recognized me. Why would she say something like that to anybody else? I swallowed hard a couple of times but only managed to choke on my words. Then, she moved slowly across the patio, descended the steps, and disappeared into the crowd. I was so dumfounded that I just stood there, looking out into the crowd of people. She had disappeared.
The time that passed as I stood there could not be measured by seconds, minutes, and hours. It was as though time was moving at lightning speed yet so slow it was mesmerizing. Upon the brick patio, I stood in the center of the room, the last beams of sunlight cast upon me, with the seeds in the air and the vines above me and the flowers looking at me.
The next day, I was released from detainment and given my new orders. I was not to be punished for my irrational actions. Instead, I was to head to the far west, to the front lines. It was suicide, I know. This was my real punishment, but somehow, I just didn’t care. It wasn’t the same kind of carelessness as before. Before it was a carelessness brought about from the monotony of being a machine. Now, it’s the carelessness one feels when all has been lost; when it‘s just not worth trying anymore. My time has run out. I was to ship out with a small group of soldiers that afternoon. I was under extreme surveillance; the commander wanted me gone as soon as I had my belongings in my bag. He would kill me, literally, if I tried anything again.
Soon afterwards, I found myself riding in an old Jeep on the way to my mission. The sun was bright and soft as we rode along the smooth dirt road out to the west; through a meadow before we entered the jungle. I felt hollow at that point. Her face was stuck in my head. I had no idea what to do; what I should have done. I hadn’t felt this way since I left home. Will I ever get home? Will I ever see her again? Will I ever see anything friendly from this point onward? It seemed like I was riding that Jeep to my death, but somehow… I just didn’t care. Do I understand what she said? Do I understand the people around me? A tear rolled down my cheek as my mind continued to fill with thoughts of her.
The driver must have noticed how distressed I was, because he leaned over and said “So, bud, you look really bad. Are you scared to go to the front lines? Is it getting‘ to ya?”
This caught me off guard. I realized, all this time, I didn’t care that I was going to one of the most dangerous areas in the world, where I had a high chance of never returning. It just didn’t seem that important. All I could think about was… her.
At that point my mind went blank. Suddenly my head was clear. I don’t care what happens from this point onward. I’m not afraid to fight, I’m afraid to lose her. I’ll go to that battlefield, I’ll fight for all I’m worth, and if I live, I will return for her. That’s the first thing I’m going to do. If I don’t, I’ll never be able to live another day without her image tormenting me. And if I die? No matter. I will still return, somehow. I will travel there and rest among the orbs of light hanging from the trees like the spirits of so many other lost souls. The orbs of light, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll watch over her. I must. From the trees. The past doesn’t matter from this point forward. All that’s left is the future…
After a couple minutes, the driver looked at me with a bit of annoyance in his expression and said “Well? Are you afraid?”
I looked at him, smiled, put my feet up on the dashboard, tipped my helmet over my eyes, fell asleep, and dreamed.
We were on our way to the village when our group came under fire. A couple of my men and I sought out a row of thick bushes for cover. The rest dispersed into the dark forests and prepared to return fire. Behind the bushes, we took turns peeking over the leaves and lobbing a volley of bullets across the road and into the enemy. My turn came, and all my senses focused on the scene only a short distance ahead of me. I could not see the enemy, but I fired my rifle into the darkness anyways, hoping I would somehow hit my target. After a few pulls of the trigger, I threw myself violently back to the ground and began fumbling with my pack to get to an extra magazine. At that point, my eyes drifted over and found that my comrade had been struck in the head and lay dead next to me. The sight did not trouble me; this was all in a day’s work. I finished reloading my rifle and fired another round into the enemy lines, still unsure of exactly where they were hiding. Moments later, the enemy fire ceased and my troop prepared to regroup.
Later that night we arrived at the village. It was a small, relatively poor village, with a population of no more than 200. Only but a week ago our forces had managed to liberate it from the enemy. The air was quiet as we came out of the jungle and approached the main gate. There were only a few villagers still up at this hour of the night, but they stayed back in the shadows of the buildings. The village was built around a small collection of natural ponds with tall, mature trees spaced out throughout the grassy areas separating the individual pools. These trees were spaced just enough so their leaves would provide the entire area with an unbroken cover of shade during the day. The path we were taking had benches every so often and curved along the eastern end of the central park and ultimately made a loop and joined back where we had first began. Through the trees hung strings of baseball-sized orbs, spaced a couple feet apart from one another, that emitted a soft, white light that was just barely enough to aid us as we stepped across the cobble path.
I was walking the path with two of my soldiers at each of my sides. They were talking to each other and to myself in a friendly manner; making jokes here and there and telling stories. I smiled and offered a few of my own comments to the conversation, but I was really more fixated on the beautiful trees with the hanging orbs. The scene was so peaceful and dreamlike. We reached a small wooden bridge that spanned a tiny creek that flowed out of one of the ponds. At the end of the bridge we had reached the north end of the park, and I bid the soldiers farewell as they departed for their bunks. They had only just transferred into my troop, but they seemed like good fellas. I had restrained myself from creating any bonds of friendship with them, because I felt that they would be gone after a short while.
I stood alone in the silence of the night and gazed across the small fields of grass with the ponds speckled throughout. The trees still displayed their solemn orbs that seemed almost to be suspended in the air like spirits. I peered through the tunnel of dark leaves hanging over the park and saw, in the distance, a group of villagers standing together outside a featureless building that sat at the south border of the park. There were four or five of them; all were female. I could not hear anything they were saying, or make out any notable features due to the thick darkness. Suddenly, one of the faces seemed to unveil itself to me. I knew that face, it was of someone dear to me from back home. It’s not possible… I had not seen her in a very long time…
The girl held a special place in my heart, whether she knew it or not, back during the times of peace and security; living back home where we were both free to pursue the goals we had set for ourselves. Unfortunately, we had grown apart for reasons I could only blame myself for. I was too shy… even though she was right there, I chose to stay in the background. Time passed, and I worked myself into a state of apathy. The war our country had been fighting was not of major concern to people like us; we simply observed it and shook our heads. The threat was not that great and our goals not that ambitious. So life went on for a while, and I heard from one of my acquaintances that the girl dear to me had gone to visit her relatives in a foreign country. I did not think much of it at the time, for I was trying to get myself to forget everything about that face. Then, the war exploded. I was drafted and sent off to fight a campaign for my country upon the soil of a land on the other side of the world. I survived many battles and saw many faces come and go. The military molded me into a machine and I carried out my orders without question. I had no problem with dying; I should have died already. I also had no problem with killing. My comrades were expendable, and I was as well. This did not bother me. None of it bothered me. It was simply the life I had been given.
But… the country the girl had gone to…
I continued to gaze upon the shadowy figures in the distance. A blanket of sorrow crept upon me as I realized why the girls were standing there. They were prostitutes. Through the darkness, across the grass and underneath the dark, thick roof of leaves, over the whispering pools of water, my gaze was met with that of her own. How she knew I was there, I still do not know. Maybe it was just coincidence, or maybe she wasn’t looking at me at all, but something in my direction so it appeared she was looking at me. Whatever the case may be, I looked away quickly and pretended to myself as though nothing had happened, such as a schoolboy does when a cute girl catches him staring at her from afar, caught in a daydream. When I looked back, the group had disappeared. I was alone in the village now. I dropped my head and walked slowly back to my bunk, deep in thought.
The next morning, I went out to the south side of the village where I had seen the girl. She was not there at that time, of course, but something still drew me on. I passed the featureless building, which stood two stories high, and pushed open a door that led into a long hallway leading westward that fed to a few buildings and one small courtyard with a patio. In this hallway, the locals came and set up shop along the walls, selling all sorts of trinkets and produce and whatnot. There were many cracks and destroyed segments of wall and roof that opened the hall to the outside and let a warm sunshine into the room. Many of these holes in the wall were occupied by some of the locals who wished to absorb some of the good weather. The area was rather busy at this time. I traveled down about halfway of the hall until I came to a large wooden door to the left of me that was shut and locked. Vines crept up from one of the openings of the dilapidated building and covered the door. It had obviously not been opened in some time, but for some reason, I felt as though the girl might be right on the other side of the ancient door. Knowing that it would not be wise to make a scene in front of all the locals, who just barely trusted us as it is, I began walking back down the hallway, disheartened, toward the doorway I had originally entered from.
I came to the doorway, which actually consisted of two glass doors, which were unusually nice considering the problem with poverty the country had been facing for many years. Before I exited the building, I looked over to my right and saw a small indent in the wall where an old lady had set up shop. I found it odd that I did not notice her on the way in. I looked over her wares. They consisted of many small, bronze trinkets and wooden toys all arranged upon a crimson piece of cloth with yellow fringes. The whole display was covered in a thick layer of dust. I looked up at the old woman, who sat on the ground behind her display, and she looked back at me with hollow eyes. I slowly turned back to the glass doors and exited the building.
On the way back to my quarters, I replayed my interpretation of the girl’s situation over in my mind. I felt certain I knew what happened. She came to visit her relatives in a foreign country. The country was this country. The relatives resided in this village. She came when the war was still tiny embers, and the sudden ignition of the full-scale, bloody assaults engulfed the country so swiftly that there was no time to escape. After that, she was trapped. The war had taken its toll on everybody that lived in this country. People’s families were being separated; some going to war to become guerillas, some dieing at the hands of the said guerillas who regularly ravaged villages, others by the long arm of the military I currently served under. The economy was destroyed; fields were burning and businesses were being torn apart. Everybody had to crawl with every bit of their tattered will to snatch what remaining money they could in order to ensure the survival of themselves as well as their family. It was a truly desperate time for the common folk. Thus, the girl dear to me, who was now stuck in this country, was faced with the choice of life for herself and her family by whatever money she could manage to make, or death from hunger, thirst, disease, and grief. It must have been horrific for her. Back home, back when things were peaceful for us, she was always bright and virtuous. She had such a future.
The next day, I managed to muster the energy to go with a couple of other soldiers to what the locals considered to be a movie theater. It was in the northwestern part of town, a short walk from the barracks. I was, once again, accompanied by a man on either side of me. One of them was the same as a couple nights ago, while the other’s face was completely new to me. In any case, we conversed in the same meaningless manner as we had before.
The theater building appeared quite old and beat up from the outside, a feature that I had grown used to, but the inside was, again, surprisingly nice. It had wooden floors and stone walls, with a wide, well crafted staircase that led up to the second floor, where the seats for the movies were. We entered the small, dark room with a few locals who were also here for the movie and took our seats in front of the tattered cloth that served as the projection screen. The light from the projector clicked on and created a shaft of light as it passed through the clouds of dust that had been stirred up in the room by our arrival. Something about this area wasn’t right, I could sense it. My acquaintances were aware too, and we exchanged looks of concern. My hand gripped my rifle.
From the back of the room and from behind the tattered projection screen came a sudden flurry of bullets. A group of unsatisfied locals had anticipated our arrival and were attempting to assassinate us. The three of us dove behind the seats and returned fire as the other theater patrons who were obviously not part of the plot began to panic and run for an exit. The enemies let them pass out of the room since they were not their target. Shortly after the fight began, I managed to shoot down the man that was behind the tattered cloth. He slumped to the ground and lay in a pool of blood. We knew they had the main exit blocked, so we fired some covering shots and ran for a small lift that was used to get heavy supplies up to the second level. The lift was to the right of the projection screen, down a short hallway. We were about to enter when we realized there was another armed man inside the lift, but he had apparently not been expecting us just yet and was not quick enough to fire. Once the man was dispatched, we hastily crammed ourselves into the small lift and shut the metal door in front of us. We lowered ourselves down, all the while looking at our feet where the body of the man in the elevator we had slain just seconds ago lay motionless. Once we reached the bottom floor, there was no sign of the remaining attackers. Regardless, we moved through the small crowd of people in the lobby and headed back to our base. I was later informed that the people who attacked were angered by our occupation of the village and finally struck out. The remaining fighters were caught by some patrolling soldiers and were being held in prison. I knew this would happen. This village is falling apart at the seems.
All of these developments sent me into a state of panic. I still could not get the image of the girl out of my mind, and at this rate, we would soon lose control of the village, and I may never see her again. Those innocent locals in the theater who saw us kill those men will be scared, angry. This is going to flow through the community like a flood, and with each telling it will become a little more evil. Soon we will be the demons of the land who slaughter their kin.
And so it happened. The village chief requested that we remove our forces from the area. I was in the room with the officers discussing the situation. They all agreed that It would be best to move out of the area in order to avoid any further violent outbreaks. After all, this village offered no real military advantages. We were scheduled to pack up and head to a nearby base to the east as soon as possible. As for the liberated soldiers… the liberated soldiers…..
I made up my mind and rushed out of the room. Across town, to the west, barracks were constructed to house local militia soldiers who we had commandeered to fight for us after we liberated the village. I entered one of the barracks boldly and began walking quickly down the hall. It was a large, long building, with bunks for the men stacked three-high on both sides of the hall. As I walked down the hall, I began shouting in a very stern voice for all the men of the liberated militia to report to the commanders’ quarters immediately for instructions on their mission. These soldiers were crude at best. They had no uniforms; most were bare-chested. They were dirty and many were quite upset at the situation they had been forced into. I knew they had particularly unkind views toward us, but this was my last chance… I continued to shout while some of the soldiers shouted obscenities back at me, and others threw small objects at my back in an attempt to assert their defiance. I completely ignored it and continued shouting at all the soldiers to make a swift appearance at the commander’s quarters or else the consequences would be severe. As much as they hated the fact, they knew we had superior power and thus control of the situation, so they reluctantly began to prepare for their departure.
The commander’s quarters were on the southeastern side of town, which meant the army of crude, disgruntled militiamen would soon be rushing through the center of town in order to get to the commander as quick as possible. I exited the barracks and rushed toward the hallway I had been in the day before; back to the wooden door with the vines. I went as fast as I could as to not waste any time. I arrived in the hall, which was quite busy, and, as I expected, the militiamen were soon to follow. They ran through the streets, down the hallway toward the eastern side of town, and with this came much commotion among the locals. They all came out from their homes and crowded the streets to observe the soldiers jostling through the mess of confused and somewhat panicked townsfolk. This was my opportunity. I knew that everybody would be out to observe what was going on. She had to be here somewhere…
I reached the wooden door and looked at it. It was still closed tight, but for some reason, I was drawn to the small outdoor patio to the right of the door instead. There were people running and shouting all over the place. Many of them were bumping in to me in a confused stupor, yet I was still drawn up to the patio. I walked calmly up the small brick steps that led to the slightly raised courtyard. I paused at the top of the stairs and looked around. It was a small patio with a brick flooring. There were lattices with vines hanging from them on the western end of the rectangular room, and the sun shone peacefully through them. There was a slightly orange light to the room due to the setting sun and the beams of light penetrating the vines were visible as clouds of dust passed through them. Among the dust I noticed many seeds; small, airborne seeds drifting sleepily through the light. There was a short wall around the patio, upon which were little cubbies where planters sat. The planters contained an assortment of beautiful flowers of all colors. On the eastern end of the patio, there was a small, covered area where a couple tables were set up with food lining them. The room exuded a sort of peacefulness that reminds one of his childhood, where he played among the plants in the backyard, exploring the world in state of bliss, engulfed in the lifeblood of nature.
About fifteen feet in front of me, my gaze came to rest upon a girl. It was her. She stood still near the back of the room, underneath the vines, and stared directly into my eyes. Her dark eyes, dark hair, and slim figure silhouetted within a long, white dress drew all my attention in an instant even though she remained completely still. Being the over thinking soul that I am, I immediately wondered if she even remembered me. I would not be surprised if she didn’t, after all, because her life has been so eventful since we last spoke back home. Her mind must be swimming with all sorts of things that are more important than some boy from her past. Perhaps, I told myself, she is just looking at me because of my uniform. I am obviously conspicuous around this place, especially with all the civil unrest lately. What should I do? Was this all a big mistake? After all this, can I even talk to her?
My brooding was suddenly broken when a small boy grabbed my hand. I looked down at him and he smiled at me, so I smiled back at him, upon which he began to tug on my hand and lead me toward the table with the food on it. The boy was not tall enough to reach all the items on the table, and he desperately wanted some of the fish that was sitting in the back. I grabbed a couple fish and placed them on a plate and handed it to him. He smiled again and headed off to the other side of the patio. I stood there for a second, listening to the shouting and bustling of the event I had intentionally put into motion. It was odd, for the people upon the patio seemed to be much less distraught from the running militiamen and concerned locals. This patio felt like a safe haven to me.
I turned back toward the girl and realized that she was no longer looking at me. She had her gaze fixed, still, upon the area where I had stood at the top of the steps. Her gaze fell past where I was upon all the frantic people. I felt for sure she had no clue who I was; that after all this, all the torment her image brought to my heart, that she had simply forgotten I existed. I lost my nerve. I began to walk slowly back out toward the hallway with my head hung low, but then, she spoke, in perfect English with the accent of our home. “People are like ants,” she said calmly, “They follow one another blindly, to death if that be the case. It’s sad, really. These people out here, they could be so much more, if only they knew. Blindly, they go. Doing what they are told, following the crowd. Upholding principles that they do not understand. Love. Do these people understand that? To be consumed by love for another; it’s painful when that person is gone. Even more painful when that person is just out of your reach. It’s a curse, really. A wonderful curse.”
She said all of this without lifting her gaze from the crowd. I desperately wanted to say something. She spoke in English to me. There was no mistaking it. She must have recognized me. Why would she say something like that to anybody else? I swallowed hard a couple of times but only managed to choke on my words. Then, she moved slowly across the patio, descended the steps, and disappeared into the crowd. I was so dumfounded that I just stood there, looking out into the crowd of people. She had disappeared.
The time that passed as I stood there could not be measured by seconds, minutes, and hours. It was as though time was moving at lightning speed yet so slow it was mesmerizing. Upon the brick patio, I stood in the center of the room, the last beams of sunlight cast upon me, with the seeds in the air and the vines above me and the flowers looking at me.
The next day, I was released from detainment and given my new orders. I was not to be punished for my irrational actions. Instead, I was to head to the far west, to the front lines. It was suicide, I know. This was my real punishment, but somehow, I just didn’t care. It wasn’t the same kind of carelessness as before. Before it was a carelessness brought about from the monotony of being a machine. Now, it’s the carelessness one feels when all has been lost; when it‘s just not worth trying anymore. My time has run out. I was to ship out with a small group of soldiers that afternoon. I was under extreme surveillance; the commander wanted me gone as soon as I had my belongings in my bag. He would kill me, literally, if I tried anything again.
Soon afterwards, I found myself riding in an old Jeep on the way to my mission. The sun was bright and soft as we rode along the smooth dirt road out to the west; through a meadow before we entered the jungle. I felt hollow at that point. Her face was stuck in my head. I had no idea what to do; what I should have done. I hadn’t felt this way since I left home. Will I ever get home? Will I ever see her again? Will I ever see anything friendly from this point onward? It seemed like I was riding that Jeep to my death, but somehow… I just didn’t care. Do I understand what she said? Do I understand the people around me? A tear rolled down my cheek as my mind continued to fill with thoughts of her.
The driver must have noticed how distressed I was, because he leaned over and said “So, bud, you look really bad. Are you scared to go to the front lines? Is it getting‘ to ya?”
This caught me off guard. I realized, all this time, I didn’t care that I was going to one of the most dangerous areas in the world, where I had a high chance of never returning. It just didn’t seem that important. All I could think about was… her.
At that point my mind went blank. Suddenly my head was clear. I don’t care what happens from this point onward. I’m not afraid to fight, I’m afraid to lose her. I’ll go to that battlefield, I’ll fight for all I’m worth, and if I live, I will return for her. That’s the first thing I’m going to do. If I don’t, I’ll never be able to live another day without her image tormenting me. And if I die? No matter. I will still return, somehow. I will travel there and rest among the orbs of light hanging from the trees like the spirits of so many other lost souls. The orbs of light, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll watch over her. I must. From the trees. The past doesn’t matter from this point forward. All that’s left is the future…
After a couple minutes, the driver looked at me with a bit of annoyance in his expression and said “Well? Are you afraid?”
I looked at him, smiled, put my feet up on the dashboard, tipped my helmet over my eyes, fell asleep, and dreamed.