Away from Heaviness

I was the only one who survived the first war. I remembered wearing the shabbiest clothing while standing in front of the disaster the conflict had caused. The smog was close, unbearable in its appeal to difuse the graphic gore. It didn't feel like a lost cause, but an extreme helpnessness of solitude overpowered the degree of disposition it expressed.

It was different in the second war.

I wasn't to be defensive, but submissive to the flow of both sides however I am committed to the other. We were hiding behind the curtained glass building on the upper floor, peeking outside through the grounds and the wealthy market on the left. I was lying down on my back, facing away from the directive, as if diseased. The others were observant, eager to defeat the opponent. I was ready to be shot down by the uniformed enemy in aggression. I was ready to die. There was no purpose. The environment wasn't changing.

Suddenly, deviation from the established situation emerged - the mass started to create noise. Holding every bit of power in voices and force, they rallied against the market. The noise was intolerable. I was starting to nauseate. It was a perfect diversion.

I looked at my closest comrades, eyeing every bit of movements. I looked particularly at one of my usual companion and the dog. Beside me, I felt there was a need to bid goodbye. I was not holding any gun.

Holding the triggers attentively, the entirety was ready to fight. One comrade fired the gun. It broke through the curtained glass to the upper floor of the market; it erupted a huge explosion and destroyed almost half of the market's welfare. It did not only let the mass ran and panick away, but it welcomed the guards of the market going out with guns firing right at our direction.

This time, it was decided to fight bare - the curtains were removed; the glasses claimed our transparency. We were cornered on the ground.

I refused to lie still, idle, and borrowed a gun from a comrade, who obliged while thinking how some weapons exist around this setting. I saw two guns over the cartridge on my side as I avoided direct hit. I pulled the trigger of the one with the smaller bullets; it was still extremely big nonetheless. It was too big, I could not fire it.

We were outnumbered. I tried to shoot of what was left of the market as I moved and hid away from the gunshots, I managed to save a black hummingbird. As I fired, it shook the whole foundation of the market, its system dying. But it was too late, a bomb was thrown at us.

A comrade passed it to me, as if giving me the responsibility of its disposal. I did not threw it up. I threw it wearily on my side, letting death in easier.

As it exploded, I could feel my insides breaking, being blown away into pieces. It was blank and instant.

I woke up on my original corner of sleeping, being woken up by the beautiful singing of the black hummingbird that I saved. It was trying to reach me through the screen of the door. It was trying to let me touch itself. I felt peaceful as I shared solace with it. I did not have to protect myself for I have already died.