When They Were Gone

Guns

A loud crack erupted through the air, quickly followed by a sizzle and a thunk. A hole appeared in the middle of the red lines crisscrossing the circles, serrated corners flapping slightly in the wind. Then again and again and again as the target was peppered with holes before floating to the ground in a plume of dust. The sound echoed like a canon down the line of shooters.

Pause and reload.

Gruff voices, whimpers of pain, the echoing of a whip.

The bullets started back up, cutting through the sound-mufflers of those who stood back and tearing through the eardrums of those firing, inviting flinches and gritted teeth from each soldier.

Were they new? It wouldn't be long until they were deaf. And once deaf, they would be moved to the front lines. How did she know that?

Again and again. A repetitious continuity without break, without breath, to the eventual collapse of exhaustion.

Pitiful creatures.

The girl strode through them, walking behind the lines, ignoring the shooters, ignoring the onlookers, ignoring the commanders, ignoring everything. With a faint sigh, she looked up at the sky - bright, white, colourless, partially obscured by the floating grey and drifting black specs. 

They paid no attention to her. She was invisible to them. That was alright; they were fools.

From the vague parts of her memory, a name came to her: War Camp. That's what this was. A War Camp training the young and new to enter the war - perhaps now, perhaps later, but certain to happen. However, that meant...

Step after step, her feet took her to the edge of the camp, then further. Brushing away branches, stepping over roots, over flat land filled with dust, dirt and sand, she stood at the edge of the battlefield.

A shadow fell over the area and passed as quickly as it had come.

How she had arrived in the area was unbeknownst to her. She had just appeared, all of a sudden, materialised in the war camp and the warzone. Her mind hadn't recorded any aspect, any venture of her journey - her travel, her companions, her state of mind, her job, nothing... Nothing about who she was, nothing about why she had come, nothing about who she served - if anyone. She had been at the camp and then she had walked a few steps and arrived at the disgusting heap of dead bodies.

She had been here once before - that she knew: the first memory she could recall. The last time, there were bombs, now there were not - that she knew. She had remembered wishing them away and clicking her fingers; she couldn't remember anything after that, only waking in the warzone once more.

Perhaps she only existed within the warzone. Perhaps she was a slave to its fancies and perhaps she was supposed to live contently with that. She wasn't content with it - that she knew. How she knew was not an important enough question to dwell upon. But within her lay an ache, a deep anger, an empowering hatred against the war and an overarching will for self-preservation, perhaps something more than that. She knew she didn't want to die, she knew that the most important entity in this universe was herself, she knew that whatever she believed was correct, and she knew that she was the only determinating factor in this world. That was all.

She stepped forward.

Smoke curled through the air, wafting towards her and shrouding the area in a cloud so condensed with dirt and filth that waving a hand in front of her was made pointless. Flashes were the only sources of light, differentiating the two opposing forces. Pops, whistles, thundering vibrations, screams all cutting through the thick fog, emanating from both sides yet confusing each with their similar noises, obscuring all sense of direction.

The girl placed a foot in front of her - a treacherous step into the chaos blooming around her. At her feet lapped pools of blood, trailing their scarlet tongues along the edges of her boots and cackling with a fierce glee as they pulled themselves up against her legs, holding onto her clothes and refusing to let go as they spilled their liquid down her. She shivered, disgust trembling up her face to become dominant in her eyes and, with a spiteful fling, she moved to and fro in an attempt to rid herself of their sticky hands. With a bubbling sob, they let go, falling to her feet, letting her tread on them in peace.

Light flickered across her face again and again and again. The deafening cries stung her ears as the booming echoes filled her mind. 

Hard, sharp rocks dug through her shoes, impaling the soles of her feet with their jagged surfaces. Moisture broke through the air, mixing with the grey smog and diving into her mouth. Bitter salt swept through her taste, followed swiftly by shells of death and decay spinning around with her saliva as she continued her slow pace. 

Red came from her right, spurting and ricocheting high before crashing down on her, staining her clothes once again in a miserable copper. Its grime poured down her clothes in lines before dripping to the ground below. 

Again, those deafening cries, pounding booms ringing in her ears. Pain knifed through her, mirroring the tiny ball of lightning that shot through the smoke and dug into the ground with a puff beside her. 

A cry. A peppered chest. A body collapsed to the ground. Once again, pain. 

Her mouth twitched in annoyance - emotion sprouting on her face. She was the only important figure; only she mattered. Her clothes, her flesh, her senses should never be tainted by this scene surrounding her. Wasn't she a force of splendour? Wasn't she a god? Weren't they grateful towards everything she had done? Albeit, she had yet to know what it was she had done, but she knew it deserved praise, a shower of gratitude, a city of fallen forms she could trample on. 

Yet, instead, she was shown a prison, confided in a whirling storm, pitted against the dregs of the earth, cast into the abyss of war where she was forced to walk all her days - at least, all the days she could remember. 

Was this her reward? Was this a fitting compensation for just her presence on this earth?

No.

It was not.

She scowled. 

She knew what it was. She knew the issue. She knew what caused this detestable, insufferable, miserable mess.

So, as she stood in the middle of the field, guns blazing around her, smoke consuming all as far as the eye could see, death brought about every which way, she turned her attention to those blazing guns. 

Despicable.

Intolerable.

Disgusting.

Sinful.

With every fibre of her being, she detested them. 

Bringing her hand up before her, she closed it into a half fist before flicking her fingers quickly down. A click resonated throughout the area. Her mind was set.

They had to go.