The Hollow Soul

This story deals with the futility of war and the uncompensated loss it brings forth. It tells how war does not prove who has lost or who has won, it just tells who is left. The rest for this summary.

"I'm afraid I must confess something," said the young man, looking down at the stern and sleeping face of another huge man.

"Hmmm...?" the heavily built man raised himself slowly from the dust and sand, yawning and half awake.

"I took it," the young one beamed, winking.

At once, the sleepy expression changed to one of alarm.

"Took what?" he asked in a grave tone.

"Well....I wonder...?"

The big one chased after him, who laughed and called out loud, "Sister's letter!!"

"Hey! Return it!"

"No way!"

* * * * *

He woke up with a start, and looked around, dazed. With a sudden realization of his surroundings - dirty room, messy blinds, broken window and faint sunlight entering the dark room - he decided to get up. The dream had troubled him, once again. How many years had it been? Or maybe decades? Centuries, even....

He slowly grabbed the crutch and limped to the basin. As he opened the tap, water gushed out, moved round the hole in whirls, and finally moved in. He began to wash his face, and then, his eyes fell on the mirror. The mirror reflected back a scarred face, heavily wounded and rough. He quickly turned away. He hated mirrors. He hated water. He hated everything.

"Are you sure?" the big man asked.

"Yeah!" said the cheerful lad.

"Why the army...?"

"Because I want to be a soldier as brave and great as you are, brother!" he replied, saluting the huge and smiling elder brother.

* * * * *

He was pulled back to reality when he felt the air around him freeze. He had been in the bathtub for over an hour now. He shook his head, and suddenly, his lips curled into a smile. "As great and brave as you, brother" the words echoed. And an eerie feeling of emptiness followed. Memory of the past pained him. He took in deep breaths, trying to calm down. He felt suffocating.

He dressed up slowly. He was feeling rather heavy and hurt. Was it because of his leg? He took out a bottle of wine, and hoping to distract himself, he gulped down a whole glass. Sitting down on a chair, he began to hum a song, when his eyes fell on a photograph - covered with dust and spider webs visible on it. He picked it up, only to look at the faces of two men, one laughing and the other one trying to restrain a smile. He looked at the calender. 17th of October.

"This is wrong brother, we can't!" the young man pleaded to the bulky one.

"Move it, or else..."he ordered in a tough tone.

"No!"

"Move!"

"I refuse"

He pointed the gun at the younger brother.

"Get out," he ordered.

The young one pleaded again, "You don't have to....we can....."

The sound of firing raged outside, and shrieks of people dying were heard.

"This is the final...."

"Its wrong! Its unfair!!"

"Everything is fair in war!!!"

And in the midst of confusion, havoc and tension, something had happened. Someone had died......and someone had killed.

* * * * *

He was at the end of the road, and felt as if all sense of control had been lost. He was driving his old truck, heading for the graveyard. It was 'his' death anniversary.

He looked out of the window and saw the trees moving past him.

"You killed him," a woman hit his chest, "Bring him back, you murderer!"

"It.....It was a mist...." He stood there, trying to explain meaningless things, trying to live when he had actually burnt down a house and a home.

" Why did he die? Why didn't you die instead?"

The next time he had entered the battlefield, it was with the intention to let go of life. But it wasn't easy. Life simply clinged on to him. He was abandoned, by hope and happiness, though.

He entered the graveyard, and his eyes fell on the graves of thousands of soldiers. And for the first time, thoughts he had been avoiding for long, surfaced. What was he fighting for? When it was not even worth dying for? The pride of a soldier.......did not the overwhelming pain outweigh the little 'pride' ?

He limped to the grave of the young one. He cleaned it and kneeled down. What was he to tell him? That nothing was ever built to last? Or beg for forgiveness, just like a liar, looking for forgiveness from a stone?

The rain poured down heavily, but he did not move. He would like to get wet, and maybe, drown. Something inside him had died, and he couldn't feel it returning to him. "Br--o-o-t-her!!" the words echoed, the stretched version of "brother" his ears were addicted to hearing............

"I love you, Shen," he finally mumbled, "I....I always have and always will," more words didn't leave his mouth.

"I'm sorry......."

He closed his eyes, and the wind surrounded him. He could not feel the chill. The rain becoming heavier did not effect him.

He kept his eyes closed, hoping to sleep, and hoping to wake up in a fresh, new world with lots of peace, love and happiness.

Author's Note

End of Story.
Thank You for reading. Hope you enjoyed.