Thursday, August 16, 2012

A Weapon All The Same




I'm sure I have the right spot. I paced 200 steps due east from the left armrest of the third park bench on the west wall, and then turned due north to pace another 7 steps. Of course I hope that I am as large a man as I presume, that motorists might see me kneeling in the road well before merging their grills with my profile. I would pray at a distance for safety's sake, but then what would I have offered her that any stranger might not have. No, there is honor in facing danger, even if ever so small, and it is a paltry gift I bring beyond this rose.

I wonder if she knows I'm here, for if she does she would surely note what she may have missed while living; that I loved her, more than any earthly pleasure, more than my every passionate pursuit, more even than myself. I can't be certain she was unaware, though if she did understand, the concept was kept a silent whisper. I would rather have had it shouted, screamed perhaps, in joy obviously and not in fear as many would react under the same circumstance. Unlike the others she ignored my disfigurement. No that's not quite true. She treated my scars as if they were things of beauty, as if my many hearts laid on as many sleeves, and in that she alone touched me as no one has since the war; as no one will again I have no doubt.

Were she not coming to my side the day she was killed I would at least have less a weight around my neck; her death has been like a boulder chained to my throat that I have dragged before me for decades, choking each step, gasping for breath at every pause. Yet I know this is of my own doing and not in any way hers, as I felt a similar albatross hanging me before I met her, made of the souls of the human beings I killed in battle, and out. It's only fitting I suppose. A god's revenge was taken; her life in trade for all those I stole, she no less innocent than many of the latter if truth be told. Yet I was not a willing accomplice to the reaper but commanded to stand by him by those who hold power over me. Ah, my regret. Better that I'd have killed myself in refusal to "serve" than led the god's to destroy one so precious in my reviled name.

There is though nothing I can do beyond bear my shame, and place this remembrance to the soul of one more victim of inhumanity and indifference. And may the drunken fool who ripped her better years from her breast with his tons of steel and glass live with his crime as harshly as I live with my own.

A rose for your innocence my love, and a kiss for luck.

1 comment:

  1. What a sad tale. I'm glad it was tagged 'fiction'

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