Prisoner of War. (Version 01)

A short piece spurred from my poem "This Means War".

There was blood in the air, the scent of rotting flesh, strong and putrid.  Pale lips of ash and eyes rolled into green deterioration.  The artillery fire sounding in the distance, the cries of soldiers heard throughout the mid-morning air.  In the near distance, I heard a baby cry, heard a dog bark, and a mother wail's cut short by gunfire.  It was a sickening sight to behold, and I was at gunpoint myself.  If this was the last I was going to see of this world, the last thing I was going to hear, then let me die, quick and painlessly.

I hear the gun c**k.

"Your name," the man said, his accent of the regime unbearable.  He sounded cold and callous, but there was this twinge to it, as if he'd hear his daughters name spoken, he'd melt; as if he'd hear his wife's name, he'd collapse into his soft state.  He wore a deep red uniform, lined in white, and metals far too many to count anointed him.  From the look of it, he was four steps away from Fuehrer in German terms, King in England, Czar in Russian.  "Your name," he growled slowly, pressing the barrel to my dirt and scrapped covered forehead.

I closed my eyes, took in a deep, shaking breath, and spoke in fluent English, taking my risk of life with each number spoken.  If I answered wrong, death awaited.  If I answer correctly, I would live for one more day, one more sunset, one more drop of water.  "My name is 11192012251414 1311895 1391212518."

I slowly opened my eyes, watched him c**k his head, the jagged black locks beneath his Barracks-Cover-Cap falling to the side, revealing a scruffy worn-out face, a face that showed the years of war.  His face showed only a killers, a stone, a cold craving to take another's life.  His men spoke quickly, every word so extraneous.

"Arm," he hissed.  I took in another shaky breath.  "Show me your arm!" he bellowed, and I dropped down to my hands and knees, begging to spare me.

"Please, sir, spare me," I sobbed, the tears spilling over as my heart raced against time.  "Please, sir!  Please!"  I gripped his suit's pant legs, and cried, choking on my spit and ragged breathing.  He shook me loose, and snapped something in another language.

Hands, strong and soiled with blood grabbed my scalp, and jerked me up, the barrel of the gun shoved beneath my jaw.  I struggled and screamed in fear and horror as the hands fought back, bruising and slicing my skin.  Red metal gushed from my fresh wounds.  His men ripped my dress' sleeves, and upturned my arm quickly.  They spoke in a uncharted tongue, and I only understood a few words: Liar, traitor, kill.

The digits of a prisoner were not the ones I spoke.

I spoke my name in binary code, and now I was going to pay the penalty: Death.

The men tossed me forward, kicked me down to the wooden slats, and stomped on me, only to stop at the officer's orders.  I groaned and whimpered as I rolled my head up, spitting the rust from my mouth.  Fear kept seize of my nervous system, and my body reamined in a frisson  Cold brown eyes glazed over with the hateful spite of war sliced through me.  He took one step closer, and I began to cower, shifting away, mewling as he drew closer.  His hand gripped the gun fiercely, and I crawled backwards into the blood or innocent lives claimed by the destruction, and the mud of dead rotting bodies and rumble.  I crawled into the hidden sunlight and the rain. I crwaled out of the safety of my abandoned building as he took the steps forward until he was overtop of me, the sleek metal dripping the promise of never seeing another sunrise, never taking another breath, never seeing the one I loved ever again.

"Please," I cried, the pressure behind my eyes uttering anguish.  "Don't...Please..."

He spoke the men, tossing the words over his shoulder.  I watched the men exchange a look, protest only to be silenced by a bark of nasty words, then scurried away, out into the downpour.  I cried for them to not leave, to save me, to have mercy, but the boot of the officer slammed against my chest, the toes hitting my face.  I howled in pain, his voice louder than my own cry.

"Silence!" he roared.  I was alone, looking death in the eyes, feeling the fear course through my veins endlessly.

I watched his fingers twitch over the trigger, and in the moments his fingers pulled down slowly, I watched the memories of my love fly so fast across my vision, they were a blur, unable to comprehend.  The fire rang out as I let out a discomposed scream.  The darkness did not eat me away to eternal sleep.  My heart still pounded as the ringing died off.  My lungs gasped for air, and I was still breathing.  I opened my eyes, fearfully lowering my arm.  I looked up slowly, trembling.

"My name is 119812525 312118115..." the man said sternly, lowering his weapon.  My eyes widen as I recognize the binary name.  "Years I have fought and searched for you, 11192012251414, only to find you like this..."  He crouched down, slow and intimidating me to the ends of the earth, holstering his weapon.  His daunting eyes flickered over me, soaking in every last detail.  His rough calloused hand reached for me, and I pulled back, a small whimper escaping.  He paused his motion, then smiled softly, the features of his face morphing into a pensive expression.  "Don't be scared," he said.  "I won't hurt you..."  His fingers brushed my matted hair from my face, and I clamped my eyes shut quickly.  His hand caressed my skin, and I slowly opened my eyes when I thought all ways okay.

I found his body moving, his eyes searching for something as he leaned down, closer to me.  I withdrew slowly until I fell back, afraid of his next movements.  He studied me intently for a long moment, only hovering above me, supported by one hand, the other still cupping my face.  His fingers gently ran through my hair, stopping halfway, then repeating.

"Am I really that scary?" he asked.  "Have I become a monster?"

I swallowed hard, trying to escape the lump of fear in my throat.  I watched his face draw closer and I tried to pull away, but the back of my head pressed into the mud, preventing my escape.  His lips closed in on mine, and moved slowly, so deplorably, so melancholic.  I felt my eyes burn, and closed them tightly, the fire streaming down the sides of my face.  I found my hands, and moved them to his head, holding his face as gently as I could without clawing it away.  The fear of being so close to death yet again still racked my nerves, and the acrimony of solitary for so many years still obliterated my hopes and dreams of being loved.  I felt my fingers hold his face, his abrasive beard scratching my filthy palms.  In the moments peace that began to stir inside, he began to pull away, and I felt that peace slip with him.

I stared into those reverberant harrowing eyes, and felt my face twist with ruefulness.

He was a misanthropic, repugnance, insidious, and dicey being in the eyes of bystanders, in the eyes of the military, but I knew him.  I knew him.  He was nothing more than a fricative, amorous, benignant man.  Nothing less.

"Don't cry, love," he sais demulcently.  His tone of voice matched the touch of his hand.  "Everything shall return to normal...We'll be together again...Always...Just like ole times."

I gripped his hand tightly, and weept.  He pulled me into an embrace as he sats back.  He soothed me, and caressing my body, holding me until I was still, only breathing in his scent.  I held close to him as the world fell apart all around us, as the cries of wounded soldiers filtered through the air, as everything was beyond mass choas.  He spoke to me quietly about a time of peace, a place of happiness where death doesn't exsist, where laughter is all we know.  He spoke of a place called home, and begged me to come.

Home was his heart and I was listening to it beat without flaw.

Reviews

[joshua deathdealer]

Captivating and promising. Well done.