The Soldiers Lie

Prologue

    Billowing maple leaves fluttered around the old tree, crumpling to the ground. The old robin that had lived in the ancient structure had died just a few days ago. Athanasia had picked up its lifeless, limp body from the dirt road and buried it next to the maple tree that had been its former home. The tree's branches seemed to deteriorate, despairing over the loss of a life form.

   Three silhouettes stood solemnly, comforting one another under the flickering shadows.

   Faye had cried against Athanasia's shoulder, sobbing for the life of an old bird, one with dirt and tire marks on its ruffled feathers. "Why," she had whined, in her high-pitched voice. "Why is he not waking?"

   Athanasia had held her close, barely restraining the salty tears that dared to spring. V, their caretaker, put a hand on both girl's shoulders and squeezed them, glancing back at their shoddy-workmanship of a home.

   "Don't cry," W had soothed in her warbly voice. "All things were meant to perish, only to be reincarnated with more beauty. It just gives a reason to live happily, remember that."

   W was an elderly woman, with brilliant white tendrils frothing around her pale, high cheekbones. She had squinted forest eyes and wrinkles that formed with every expression. W was very fond of her hats, which were all home-made, of course. Her voice had a motherly tone as she squeezed Faye and murmured comforting words into her ears.

   While Athanasia patted Faye's shoulder tenderly, she glanced up at W, who gifted her with a crackly smile. "W, what do you mean?" It sounded oddly sappy as if W was trying to think of something right off the top of her head to comfort Faye.

   W only adjusted her pointed hat, which had questionable antlers glued to the side. "I'll explain when you're older. Now, get inside, nighttime is upon us."

   Faye sniffed, once, twice, before wiping her eyes. She kicked some of the fallen leaves in anger, or sadness-Athanasia couldn't decipher the troubling haze in her expression. Faye began to trudge toward the crumbling brick abode, her puffed cheeks, and red-eyed features shattering Athanasia's heart.

   There was nothing special about this bird-in fact, they hadn't even noticed it until two days before it passed. But Faye was clearly distressed about it, and whenever she was in a bad mood, Athanasia felt as if there was a shadow covering her heart.

   "You too, Nasia, you have to get some sleep. The horses will come by soon, and you wouldn't want to be caught by them now, would you?" W had impersonated a ghostly figure from one of the story tales, snatching at Athanasia. She laughed lightly, dancing around W's bony fingers, then took W's hand and led her back home.

   Once Faye had quieted down, Athanasia helped her wash her hair, combing through the long, dark strands. Although Faye seemed apprehensive at first, the bird drifted out of her head, and Faye returned to her joyous state. But Athanasia still had to know, still wanted to know. What had W said earlier, something about pear-ish and recognition?

   She flipped open her weathered yellow notebook and skimmed through the pages that were filled to the brim with her wobbly scribbles. W had presented the notebook to her for her 5th birthday, and Athanasia had been writing and doodling as much as she could for the past four years. It was a block, really, a lopsided block with a few pages torn out. Every word in it, though, contained quotes from W that Athanasia read over each day, hoping her brain would click and piece together the words that were gibberish to her eyes. But no, instead, Athanasia would have to wait patiently until the day they were old enough to sit W down and have her explain.