"Sometimes my hands shake when you're just eating breakfast, and..."
Christ, this whiner's already cutting himself off for the third time during his "heart-wrenching speech"!
"That's okay, please go on, Alexander."
And like always, the doc's all compassion. The circle of life's rejects starts cheering on poor Alexander. And here I am waiting, just waiting for this crap to end. Legs spread wide, leaning back in my chair, blowing smoke from my harsh cigarettes. Strong ones—I like those. Inhale, exhale.
Somewhere around the thirty-minute mark I quit listening to the sob stories and "confessions" from people who'd been through war. Yeah, every damn time it's the same old song and dance.
My eyes drifted lazily to the big poster on the wall: "Soldier, now you're home! Psychological support sessions." I hear clapping—looks like Alexander wrapped up his little performance. Come on, seriously: maybe ten people sitting in a circle in some empty hall... what a joke. Inhale, exhale. Someone else started talking in the background. The cigarette smoke caught my attention—thick, heavy...
Images started flashing. First the sound—the roar of a falling bomb—my heart kicked into overdrive, then...
"Get down!" the sergeant managed to shout before his limbs got blown clean off.
Smoke everywhere, gunfire, explosions, fresh blood on my uniform, and I'm grinning. I'm where I belong, this is my element. Pop up from the trench, squeeze off a burst, switch to hand-to-hand. The whole operation was a setup, and seeing dead buddies just pisses me off. But anger's perfect fuel for tearing the enemy apart. Yeah, I get it, my brain knows... War's hell, pure hell, but only there does life have any meaning. Yes! Yes! The rush of battle, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Time to dance with death. One, two, three! Let's go!
"...Eugene... Eugene!" The doc called my name twice.
"Huh? What?" When I snapped back to reality, my eyes had that thousand-yard stare, and the bags under my eyes plus my greasy long hair completed the picture of a lost soul.
"Your turn," the scrawny four-eyes said.
Male and female faces stared at me. Some people in civilian clothes, some in military uniforms... why the hell did they wear uniforms? Nuts. Though according to the doctors, I'm just as crazy.
"Well... Um..." I blew out smoke. "Every day I want to put a bullet in my head... The end. Oh wait, hang on! I can't stand chocolate cereal."
"Eugene..."
"No, seriously, the honey ones taste way better."
"This is the tenth group session, and you're still not taking your treatment seriously."
Same old song, again and again.
Inhale, ash from the burning cigarette falls on the clean floor... I suddenly jump up, driving my army knife into his eye socket, glass shards from his specs falling down, I twist the blade. Warm blood flows over my fingers, he screams bloody murder... Final thrust—everyone around can see the doc's brains leaking through his eye socket.
"Now is it serious enough? Serious, you bastard?!"
...Exhale. The doctor kept drilling holes in me with that sympathetic look. Yeah, that ain't right. He's trying to help. My shaking hand let go of the knife in my jacket pocket. You're not a monster, Eugene... right?
"I don't see the point in continuing, doc..." I said, pulling up my hood.
This bunch of head-shrinkers couldn't get another word out of me.
And why bother? Everyone gets it perfectly, so why these useless sessions, why the fake support? I don't wake up screaming at night, loud noises don't make me jump—that's the whole damn problem. I miss all of it so much. Now my body's just a shell, nothing inside, completely empty. Every day putting a bullet in my head seems like the way out: one squeeze, and the beast of war ends his journey, like he should have back there. What the hell?
No, that's the coward's way out... The coward's way...
While everyone was saying their goodbyes, I bolted from the hall. Took the stairs down to the exit.
The street greeted me with rain. The gray sky, heavy with storm clouds, was dumping buckets on the concrete jungle, rivers flowing from the gutters onto the asphalt. I wanted another smoke, but naturally, only butts were left in the pack.
"Screw you all..." People picked up the pace, ducking for cover from the downpour and, like me, wondering where the hell this rain came from. What did those lying weather jerks say? "Beautiful summer day, not a cloud in the sky."
I didn't feel like living anyway, and the soaked clothes didn't help matters for this wonderful, happy existence.
I remember when our unit got pinned down in a trench: exactly the same kind of rain coming down. A supply convoy was supposed to show up soon, we hadn't eaten in forever, could've died right there. And like idiots, we're cracking up over some stupid joke. Those were good times.
Well, whatever, it's only a couple blocks home, and I'm broke. A forced march is perfect for this kind of trek...
"Take this." A girl. A little girl... I don't know, maybe eight years old, could be older. She's holding out a folded umbrella to me.
"Come again?" Calm confusion, raised eyebrow.
"Take the umbrella, or you'll get soaked." Dressed in a gray raincoat, black hair hanging from under the hood, and those innocent kid eyes showing genuine concern.
"Didn't your mom tell you not to talk to strangers, especially not to hand them stuff?" I looked around. We were alone. "Go find your parents."
"Mom's working at the store, over there." A little finger pointed to the grocery store across the street.
"Listen..." Before I could finish, she practically shoved the umbrella into my hand and, flashing a smile, ran off to that same store.
What do you make of that? No way, this won't fly. Kids these days have completely lost their sense of stranger danger, or have I gotten that rough around the edges?... Either way, I need to return the umbrella. Without opening the "gift," I jogged across the street, went through the doors. Well, in just a few seconds my hair was already soaked: water dripping unpleasantly down my face. One hell of a downpour.
So there's a woman at the register, scanning another customer—apparently, this is my little friend's mom. The girl, by the way, spotted me and slipped behind the rows of shelves. The store's pretty small, sure, but three aisles of various goods work fine for hide-and-seek. Well, I'm definitely not playing games, what the hell?...
"Um... excuse me," I walked up to the register.
"Please wait!" the cashier snapped, counting the bills again.
"How long's this gonna take?!" the guy got ticked off. I see. Wrong change or a return.
The girl peeked around the corner, still smiling sweetly. Do I look like someone kids should trust? They'd probably think I'm some kind of creep!
Another recount and more apologies made it clear this would drag on forever. Maybe just ditch the umbrella? The little one peeked out again, sticking her tongue out.
"Hey, take your umbrella back!" I walked over to the far aisle, but the girl giggled and went around the other side, running back to the register.
I feel like a complete idiot...
My eyes caught the cooler full of beer. Ah, only you can save me now, old friend! Why didn't I bring my wallet?
Two people ran past the store's big windows—probably escaping the rain too... gunshot!
Ear-splitting, ringing. Chunks of ceiling crashed down, shattering on the tile floor. I instinctively pressed against the shelf. A woman's scream mixed with garbled speech.
"Asn tu erema!"
What language is that?
The unknowns kept jabbering, and I carefully peeked out.
Yeah, two of them; faces wrapped in red cloth, both wearing painted cloaks... are those pentagrams? Lots of weird symbols, like cave paintings or some mental patient's doodles. One guy's got a rifle, the other some small-caliber pistol. The man waiting for change raised his hands; the cashier was babbling through tears that she couldn't understand them. The girl... where's the girl?
The poor kid had hit the deck and curled up in a ball, covering her face with her hands.
Should've returned that damn umbrella! If this is a robbery, just give them the cash and these freaks will take off.
That naive thought vanished when a second woman ran out from the back room. Stupid move!
Gunshot! Fresh screams. They killed her. They just shot her down, damn it! The second cashier slumped against the wall and, leaving a bloody streak, slid to the floor.
"Well, ate!"
More shots rang out. The guy dropped his groceries and died in a pool of his own blood.
And then I saw how these psychos were looking at the girl. No, I don't know what this is, but it sure doesn't look like a simple stick-up. They're gonna kill everyone. Kill everyone!
"Take this," flashed through my memory like lightning, that child's voice echoing in my head... one second, one moment. My expression went stone cold. Inhale, exhale.
As soon as the gun swung toward the little one, I hurled the umbrella right at the window. The glass didn't break, but I definitely got their attention.
"Asn ame?!" They got distracted. The one with the rifle immediately moved between the aisles toward me.
My hand found the knife.
No shaking, no fear. Come on, you bastard, a little closer.
I saw a long barrel appear from behind the shelf. Quick pivot—and it's right in my face... Dropping low, I launched myself at the psycho like a wild animal.
The punk didn't expect that kind of speed, and a can that flew into his face threw off his shot. The bullet tore up the shelf, deafening me, but that's a familiar feeling. Cold steel slid into the scumbag's throat with surgical precision.
We went down together. I quickly jerked the blade, slicing the throat wide open. Gurgling sounds, music to my ears... The bastard, choking on his own blood, died.
Gunshot! I managed to grab the dead man's rifle and press against the shelf again. Shot after shot, bullet after bullet—the second one, spraying and praying, tried to nail me. Bullets ricocheted but didn't hit anyone. Shoot, shoot... I didn't know the exact model of the weapon in my hands, but I had no doubt it was loaded. Just needed to squeeze the trigger.
The freak burned through about ten rounds in my direction, and finally I heard empty clicks. Grinning, I stood to full height, aiming down the sights. The wooden stock was light. Better make precise shots—looks like a hunting rifle.
And my target's right in front of me.
"You gotta count your ammo, scum!"
Bang! Blood splattered across the register, covering the sobbing cashier, but the enemy dropped dead on the tile.
Victory—how sweet it tastes...
Still gripping the captured weapon, I picked up the umbrella and walked over to the girl. She was crying, sniffling. And the only thing that came to mind was...
"You need it more," I said wearily.
I guess you could call this karma or... I don't know... Philosophy isn't my strong suit. I only heard that people see their whole life flash by a second before death. No, that's all bull. Out of the corner of my eye I saw another gun aimed... Not at me, why? A third scumbag from the street was targeting the girl, but where'd he come from? Why was he waiting? Well, doesn't matter... Maybe my whole life was wasted? And this is that moment... That very damn moment! All I wanted was to save at least one person in my whole worthless life. Not following orders, not because "we're fighting for the homeland," but here and now. On autopilot I pulled the little one against my chest.
Searing pain tore through my back, consciousness about to leave this useless body... Hold on, Eugene, hold on... son of a bitch! Blood seeped through my lips, the freak kept shooting. Won't let go! Won't give up! Today two more are gonna die, and there's no little girl on that list.
With my last bit of strength I spun around. My vision went dark. The soaked piece of garbage in the cloak was still aiming when I pulled the trigger. The rifle slipped from my weakened fingers, and I collapsed on the tile. I was dying and could barely feel anything.
Wait... wait just a little more.
I tried not to close my eyes.
Look, you have to look! Yeah, the third one's lying there, his blood mixing with rainwater, flowing into the gutter. The girl? Where is she?
"Mister!"
I don't know if you're real, Lord, but thank you.
She's crying, she got blood on her raincoat, but she's okay, she's okay.
I was probably smiling, feeling little hands shaking me by the jacket. Everything's fine, little one! Hell, so what? I know this doesn't fix anything. But an ending like this can be called good, right? At least for someone like me? Ah, whatever! How I want a smoke... Well, even without one I feel good. The last thing I hear is children's tears hitting the floor. Such a quiet sound—and you'd think... I can hear it.
And darkness.
"Come, beast of war, come to those who need you. Us, ave, anse." A pleasant female whisper flows into my ears.
Endless darkness merges with something cosmic, and together they create a symphony that could be called infinity. I see streams, their dark threads intertwining, tangling, stretching. They beckon, calling me through the void.
A flash of light, gentle touch, burning pain.
I drew breath.
"Breathe, breathe, wolf..."
Someone kept talking to me. I felt dirt under my hands, and I felt so sick I wanted to puke. I gulped air through my mouth.
First sounds appeared, then colors of the world around me. I heard heavy breathing, like some beast panting... No, that's me... I'm breathing that hard. Spit runs in a stream onto the ground, my hands... God, my hands! They're covered with thick black fur, and instead of nails—claws. Is this a dream? Hell? Heaven? Where the hell am I?! I wanted to ask this question, but instead a roar mixed with grunting tore from my throat.
"We don't have much time!"
Finally I realized the female voice was coming from just three feet away. I looked up.
A wounded woman, bleeding, was covering a bullet wound in her stomach with her hand. Her black clothing looked like a dress, like... like witches wear in fairy tales or games. And this witch was beat up and filthy, with bruises and scratches on her face. Messy long hair covered her shoulders, unnaturally purple eyes stared at me. It seemed like she was fighting with everything she had not to close her eyes.
"Kill me, wolf, I command you to kill me!"
She choked on blood, and the snow around us got even more stained red. And the mist from her breath dissolved in the crisp air of the winter forest.