George Small: #1

I don’t know to whom and for what purpose writing right now. Perhaps I’m writing to my mother and father. They are the only two I have back home. Perhaps I write to keep my sanity. Every thing’s changed around camp. The most obvious change is in the men. We are no longer exited about the discoveries that lie ahead. We are bored, there’s so much energy waiting to be released. The second change is in Geier and his decisions.

Ever since his snobbish son died, there have been no more scouting missions. Every exploration was cancelled. Instead of treading through unknown territory, we sit and play cards all day. He barely comes out of his study. He’s a vampire. I understand that he’s hurt because of his son, but let’s face it, no one really liked Alfonso anyway.

Last night, finally, Geier emerged from his quarters. He walked towards Streeter, the guy in charge of weapons. He said: “Give weapons to every member of E3.” I was given two rifles. We were packed into a jeep and we traveled southwards. We traveled until we hit a small village. The captain turned to face us. His face was cold and hard like stone. “Shoot everyone of them.”

I turned around to observe my fellow troop members. Were they agreeing and complying with the massacre. Before I could set my eyes on anyone, I heard shots fired. They were joined by hundreds of others, drowning the sound of screams and shrieks of fear.

I don’t know what happened then. A wave of frenzied heat emanated from the rest of the troop. I inhaled it and lost myself. I joined the ones that had left the jeeps and began running with them towards the center of the village. We were a pack of wolves with guns for our claws and fangs.

We left no survivors. We arrived back at sunset. The sky was tainted with blood, a mirror to the puddles of blood we left in the sands of the village.

I’m ashamed of what I did, but mostly I’m ashamed of the feelings I got from it. It felt good to see others fall to their knees crying for mercy even when they knew they wold not get it. It felt good to have the power of a god in my hand, to determined whether someone was to live or die.

A fire started today in the encampment. I don’t think anyone will come out unharmed.

Love is a Puzzle

Love is a puzzle, confusing and irritating at times. A wave of anticipation crashes as I open the cardboard box. Exited, I pour the little pieces on the table. I spread them out using my fingers. I turn them so that thei lie on their backs with their faces gazing at me. And yet, as they sit there, lying bare, they reveal nothing. It is all up to me to figure out.

I look for the four corners, the most important ones. They are named: Patience, Friendship, Trust, and Laughs. Then I try to connect them to each other and to the rest of the pieces. But there are too many little details. A piece may fool me into thinking it is the one I look for. But a tiny color difference or a slightly changed edge interrupts the smooth surface. The process is delicate, and if a piece is lost, then the puzzle is crippled and incomplete.

A puzzle takes time and patience to take its form. But after afternoons spent in company of the puzzle, it becomes coherent. A picture forms both in the puzzle and in my heart.

I will hang our puzzle in my living room, on top of the fireplace. That way, every winter night, when the cold wind roars outside, I will sit in front of the fireplace, looking at our puzzle and remembering your warmth.

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Response to Every Day Tells A Story. Original prompt found here.

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Tomorrow

Tomorrow I’m taking a big risk. I wasn’t sure until Sunday afternoon. I’m sorry I wasn’t bright enough to get it. At least I finally see the ligth now. I understand what happened on Sunday. I felt so bad aftwerwards. I felt so blind and dumb.

It’s my turn now. I hope it’s not too late.