My prisoner | minsung

🕊A letter🕊

January 5th, 1922.

2 months

It had been 2 months since they arrived on the front line, living in tranches on the bare minimum of supplies they had stolen from a few carcasses. After every wave, some would make it and some would be used as a decomposing matter for the futur plants that would grown on this earth.

Minho was one of the 'lucky' ones that had made it through since the very beginning. He was young, strong and smarter then most of the crew he was put with, but that didn't matter. In this game, you kill to survive and if you can't do it, you'll be the one who's killed, it's that simple.

He would have this sick game, he would look at the new soldiers and guess who would make it out alive the first day, after a while, he managed to get the hang of it. As sick as this might be, it was nothing compared to the rest of the people he was with. War had turned them to savages, losing their minds bit by bit.

From losing their friends to bombs, having to kill every single day in the cold winter, no wonder these men had gone mad.

Minho had managed to stay sain, to achieve that, he didn't make any friends, he didn't even speak to people in general except if needed.

Woman was a big problem for the rest of them, not being able to see the sight of their wife or just a plump chest in general made some go insane, but again, Minho couldn't care less, he had never really seen the appeal in a woman's curve. He wasn't even sure if he liked them to begin with, not like he could ever admit that.

"Soldiers ready! Another wave is coming!! Go go go!!"

Their commander yelled and they all got up from their sleeping bag on the cold floors, grabbing their guns and their bombs. Minho positioned his gun right above the dug in ground they were in and only let his head rise to see the horizon.

This was his every day.

He shot accurately, breaking bones and tearing through their flesh, warm blood drying out on the snow. He spotted that his roommate next to him had forgotten his helmet, but he didn't say a word, every second mattered, every bullet and breath he had needed to be spent on the enemy, destroying them.

Seconds latter, the man next to him got shot in the head, blood spreading on his arm and the corpse falling next to him.

You might think that maybe if he had his helmet, things could have ended differently, but it didn't even cross Minho's mind.

What happens is permanent, their is no going back.

"Only a few of them left! Kill them!!"

Minho in a quick move shot all of them down, leaving nothing but a meal for any nearby animal that wanted it's share. He stopped holding his breath and got a hand placed on his shoulder, his commanding officer giving him a thankful nod.

"You did good"

Minho simply nodded, not even a word escaping his mouth. While the rest of the sholdiers cried about the dead, he lifted his head high for them, another victory, that's how he saw it.

He went back in his bed to keep writing for the families of the deceased. He had to explain to them that their husbands, brother or father wouldn't be back home, and he did It with care. Making such they knew his how brave they once were, even though he never even knew them.

He was about to take another break when he head doorsteps approaching, they appeared to be running from very far away.

He got up and quickly got into position with his sniper, only to lower it down once he saw their colors on the uniform.

A man was running and once he reached them he collapsed on the floor, like if he had been running for miles.

"A message...for...commander" he took big breaths at the time, his hands blue and pale like the snow.

Minho leaded him to their leader and stood by the door to hear their conversation, his breath turning into a fog in the air around him, gun firmly in hand.

"Tell me what is it boy? Speak."

"We found a camp near the forest north of here while we were bringing some supplies. I decided to try and get a good look at the place and saw something horrible...bombs the size of a human body...ginormous and deadly"

"This is bad news...we need to recover them before anything goes even more wrong"

"But sir, we've already lost half our man since I left three days ago...we can't afford to lose even more. And the next batch of soldiers only arrive in a week from now."

"Let me take them." Minho stepped in, furry in his eyes. He was driven by war, he wanted every single one of them to perish to his hands.

"It's a suicide mission, you against all of them? I can't lose my best fighter Minho"

"And I don't want to be blow up while we all sleep...I'm doing this"

He sighed and nodded.

"I'll send a team with you, you will leave at night fall, don't disappoint me"

"I won't" he replied immediately and was about to get ready when he stopped him by holding his shoulder.

"And Minho, I want you to listen to me here, if you can bring one alive it would be a great source of information for the war."

"I'll slice all of their throats...why should I spare one?"

"Give it some thought, I'm sure it could prove to be very useful to us...now go and get ready, the sun is almost gone" he dismissed him and Minho left to go and get his things ready, snacking on a cold piece of bread he had managed to get his hands on.

"Heard we're going out tonight to kill some fellas, how're you feeling?" A boy next to him said, but Minho just ignored him, continuing to munch on his bread.

"Jesus you're colder then this god damn winter storm" he joked but he still had no answer. He kept talking and making conversation on his own, Minho had nothing against him, he just couldn't afford to lose.

"I have my reasons" that was the first time he had responded, making the other man happy.

"Why's that?"

"I can't make the same mistake twice...so please, I have to finish writing these letters"

"Oh of course, see you later" they both nodded and Minho went right back at it.

This night would be one full of blood, he could smell it in the air all around him.

He hated this war yet he craved the need to end it himself, doing everything he could to kill and murder for his own life, but that was how it was.

He reloaded his gun and wrapped his neck in a warm mask to keep the cold out, his eyes colder then the ice surrounding them. He headed out to some horses they had left in some stables they had built and waited for the rest of them to prepare.

Once they were ready and fully geared up, his group headed out into the storm.

Minho had the intent to take all of their lives, until the camp was completely whipped out, taking their last breath. His blade was hungry for more of this poison that was tricking his mind, he wanted blood, he had grown addicted to the smell of it, only because it was better then rotting flesh.

But something would happen that night that he had not intended.

He'd find something he never planned on finding.

He'd love Something he never planned on loving.

His enemy.