The Reaper

Chapter One

Left. Left. Left, right, left.

My mind echoes the monotone chants of the general as we march, our worn boots sending dust into the air, shrouding us in an orange haze. It's difficult to breathe with the dirt polluting our lungs, but no one dares to cough, not with so many eyes watching. Its been at least two hours and we have not stopped marching, prompted by the general and other high-ranking servicemen, who lazily follow in armoured cars. My legs ache and my chest heaves with each breath, but at least I am alive.

For now.

Left. Left. Left, right, left.

The sun beats down and reflects off the packed earth, roasting us in our already stifling nylon uniforms. Sweat drips down the neck of the boy in front of me, pooling in the already dark patch of khaki on his lower back. I don't need to look down to know I look the same; the sweat leaves trail marks on my face before falling off my chin. I mentally curse my body for wasting so much precious fluid when there is no breeze to help me cool down.

Left. Left. Left, right, left.

The dirt has become looser; more dust hangs in the air with each stomp of military boots. There are at least a hundred soldiers marching, and I was unfortunate enough to be placed close to the end of the five-person-wide line, where the dust cloud is thickest. Dirt has caked my lungs, leaving them as dry as the ground beneath my feet. Each particle tickles my throat, begging – no, daring – me to cough. Without turning my head, I scan my surroundings. There are two officers flanking our convoy on their sleek black motorcycles, one on each side. Their eyes are glued to the nameless kids in khaki, watching, waiting, for a chance to strike. The urge to cough has become stronger and I try in vain to swallow the dry saliva in my mouth. But it'll going to escape soon. No one can suppress basic human reflexes.

"Halt!"

The line freezes; backs straight, arms by our sides, eyes straight ahead. My height allows me to see over the heads of those in front of me. The general jumps down from a car and stomps towards the middle of line where I notice a gap between two girls, both with brown hair tied back into face-pulling ponytails. My heart sinks. This is not a rest break.

"Officers!"

Two burly men in black uniforms exit their own vehicles before disappearing into the lines. They retrieve a body from the empty position, a girl with wheat-blonde hair. She is limp as they drag her to the feet of the general, who untwists the cap from a canteen and pours its contents on her face. I watch with selfish longing as the water seeps into the hot dirt, disappearing in seconds. Immediately, the girl wakes. Her face betrays every emotion; first disorientation, then confusion, before finally settling on fear.

"I'm so sorry, General. I simply fainted. The heat, the sun, it all just got too much-"

Bang.

The gunshot resounds in my head. I watch, unable to tear my eyes away, as officers roughly drag her body to the front of the line, laying her down in front of us. A reminder.

"March!"

The stomps begin again, marching through the barren terrain. When my line reaches the girl's body, I realise with disgust that we must march over her. Her features are disfigured now from not only the bloody hole in her forehead, but the countless boots slamming over her in order to keep time. My eyes linger too long, but again I find myself unable to look away.

Caked in dirt, bloody and lifeless, I see an innocence in her frozen blue eyes. She couldn't have been more than ten, and she was executed for fainting. Her face burns into my mind, an image I will never forget; an image I'll never let myself forget. The ache in my body is replaced by a steely resolve. I will put an end to this.