Fog of War

Most would say that the greatest war that humanity had faced was back in 1939 to 1945. But some would say that it happens every day, when one faces his or her own self---that is when the struggle begins, each glaring at the knives they have at each others throat, or maybe at the gun they point at each others head, or even breaking one's will to live on. That---is when one faces damnation, the so-called great war.

That leaves me to question---have you witnessed your own great, war? have you faced damnation? if so, who won? what did it cost?

All these questions and yet no answers, one thing is certain though---it doesn't matter who won the struggle, in the end, clarity and peace still bear absent at the presence of a traumatic event.

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My eyes fluttered while feathers hailed down from what sounded like a flock of birds who soared high but wasn't really---entirely there, vague as it is, I found myself staring at Mel, Gab, Ysa, and Drey. They were merrily chatting at the round table down by the local doughnut shop whilst eating the usual custard bavarian with choco butternut and with hot coffee at the side, the sweet archaic ambrosial and luscious fragrant filled me in delight as it reminds me of home.

The band of merriment went on and on hitherto as I comfortably watch---oblivious of the fact, until I saw myself walking in the shop---only, it wasn't me. I was bewildered and besieged by this feeling of a subtle latent morass. The warmth of home was instantaneously replaced by an unfathomable shudder of cosmic fright.

Jolly and enlightenment ricochet over the ambiance of the shop, as the gleeful, luscious, and brighter they got, the more that I've condemned myself to the fringes of my own sanity, I tried to run towards them but was abruptly foiled by this---ominous glass that prevents me from going further, futile as it was---I tried to brute my way through but not even a sign of dent nor a crack showed, still, that didn't stop me from trying.

The vanity of human intellect can only go so far as an amusement to greater forces at hand, any other who's stoic and keen by heart or by mind would certainly break under the gravity of a predicament such as this.

A phonetic hoarse of a harrowing tempest gnarred over my ears, as thick and visible noxious vapor slowly wrapped the shop including my friends until everything was entirely covered in mist.

The gnarring reverberated louder but this time it came from the mist, malevolent whispers and cacophony of wails from the damned nailed me stilted from where I stood, and just like that, the unfathomable cosmic fright turned prodigious etched by something tyrannical yet still bare to be lenient in a way.

I recognize those wails of desperation---it was the same back from the inn, where I saw those horrid shapes or symbols, the mist covered everything, even reaching up to my shoes. An abrupt veer made me scramble over the white tiled floor, I was dumbfounded as to see that everything around me had changed drastically.

I was inside a white room with a grey steel monoblock at the center, in front of me was myself who wore an archaic poor pariah's clothing which includes a turban but none the less bits and strings of hair still protrudes, he was tied at the chair, beside me was also myself dressed as a formal commanding officer, my hands suffer from great withdrawal whilst my entirety stilted.

Myself who was the commanding officer pulled out a Dan Wesson 715 revolver from his sheath, removed five bullets out of the six, and whirled the chambers---he grinned before saying the words " Russian roulette " and afterward handed me the gun, what rests upon my palm psychologically broke me---slowly tilting my head down and stagnantly grasping, just to be certain that " This " is real.

I stared at both myself as my eyes begin to blur, every part of me scrambled in flight as I---who's now in a state of catatonia froze in place as if I was dead and yet not, latent as I am.

" Shoot him. " The officer casually dictates as if those words were fashioned normally, but those vile noxious loathsome speech of violent men mangled me whole, it cracked bones and stole the voices of the innocent since the dawn of humanity hitherto including my own.

" I know, what goes on in there. " said the officer as I who still suffers under the malignant effects of torpor failed to meet his gaze.

" Violence, it disgusts you. You loathe. Despise it. To go as far as to even scorn it. " he managed a chuckle then a grin before continuing,

" We both know that there's no avoiding it. No matter how deep you shovel it down...violence always finds a way... "

" To... "

" You... "

His words broke me. My eyes filter no more living soul but a static reflection of what it iridescently perpetuates, my body lay a stone as a catatonic bombardment littered gaping holes over my lost sanity.

He slowly grasped both my arctic baren hands who still suffered under a great withdrawal, fixed my hand and fingers unto the gun, pointed it at the forehead of my pariah self which was strapped at the chair, he didn't flinch nor feared his own demise but was even prepared for it.

" 3... "

" 2... "

" 1..."

The officer whispered then a swift " Click... " followed, the gun's chamber was empty and he jittered in delight. His sight was fixed against mine as he pointed the gun next unto my temple using my own hands, unknowingly---whimpers contorted out of me as he vainly tries to reassure himself.

" 3... "

" 2... "

" 1... "

I felt the barrel of the gun pressed against my temple, my skin shivers colder than the skin of the gun itself, at this very moment it occurred to me that this may be the most merciful way of dying, I may have an apathetic demeanor of it---but the corpulence of this ambiguity under the current circumstance does not deter my satisfaction nor my enlightenment. I was rather at peace knowing that the person who killed me was myself as ironic as it is.

" Click... " The officer laughed gruesomely for the chamber was yet again empty, I placed the barrel of the gun between his mouth as he wore a grin.

" 3... "

" 2... "

" 1... "

Whilst glaring at myself, I found him rather troubled more than I was, to break a man in half just so one can manipulate the other into killing himself---under the weight of this horrific scene and the placid facade, whom can you determine as to be truly broken? The puppeteer? or the puppet themselves?

" Shoot me. " the officer says as he tries to pull the trigger but my finger was there to prevent it. Now both of our hands were in a struggle over the trigger whilst the smug over his face was viscously wiped off.

" Shoot me! " frustrated as he was,

" SHOOT ME! "

" SHOOT ME! SHOOT ME! SHOOT ME! "

Frustration slowly turned into a plea, I now see, that it doesn't matter whether you're a people of violence or a people of innocence--- in the end, we're all faithed to suffer, faithed to wear scars of our own, it is an inescapable cycle that we're subjected to, an inevitable predetermined fact.

He continued to beg for me to shoot, and instantaneously, I understood. He wanted the comfort of knowing that it was himself who became his own demise, his overwhelming pride protruding even, wouldn't bear to die at the hands of another or even for those dear to him. For him this---is mercy.

I now see whether choosing violence over innocence or innocence over violence is as scornful as the feeling of pleasure without intimacy. It is a lost cause because in the end doing the right thing can be violent as to it being innocent, the same goes for doing the wrong things.

I pulled the trigger, a thunderous clap of the now smoking muzzle blasted away his jaw as the bullet flew past his flesh like a blazing knife through butter, blood-splattered over my face all the way down my chest whilst he crumbled upon his own blood.

" Mercy... " said my pariah self as he continued,

" Comes in many forms. Wouldn't you agree? "

A pause came to be whilst both of us watch our own blood to spread upon the white tiled floor.

" As to growth---could be its opposite. huh. "

" Could be. " I replied under the weight of my hoarse windpipe,

" Losing friends along the road---doesn't seem to be merciful. does it? "

The white room slowly turned to misty haze bit by bit whilst the pool of blood which my feet were soaked in gradually turned to shimmers of a river when disturbed.

" It's a suffering which is inevitable to come, a scar---all in our own variety. " I replied as the haze of mist finally transformed into glittering clouds of white.

My eyes gave birth to lucidity for this is what it certainly felt like, as if I was reborn, or have just awoken from a deep striding slumber. It was later realized that I was upside down and that droplets of water trickle upon my face whilst it made way to the thick rope that held me in place bounding my feet off the ground and up the roof of what seems like a hut.

" Where am I?! "