*Hangaku Henka*
"When we look at the human history, the word 'war' appears in every time period. Be it in the Asian Empire or the European Union, war was waged on every single inch of Superio for every inch of land that was taken from another. But how come people fought for an inch of land they'd never get? Why would they shed their own blood for someone else's sake? Or even better. Why would someone draw a stranger's blood for something he could never possess? Was loyalty a reason for it? I know it's religion most of the time, but what reason is there other than religion? Simple land? Wealth, in other words. Does human greed have limits, or will it develop further the more a human achieves? An example is the moon landing. Almost an entire century ago, people were sent to the moon. Technology got better, so did the humans' skills. Now, they're trying to send people to Mars. Why would we ever need to go there? Greed... DW Industries is thinking about colonizing Mars. But why would they? We haven't even found out what the Ancient Storm really is. The're shooting for the stars, yet can't aim at the truth... Do you like war? Do you like bloodshed? Does a human get satisfaction out of it, or is it just me who thinks that fighting in this war will either relieve me from this horrific thing called life, or push me further into my future, more matured and probably traumatized? Maybe I'm making my family proud with this, I can't tell. I don't even know why someone would be proud of a murderer. I know, I know what you might say now. 'What do you think happens when one side loses the war?', blah, blah, blah. Based on the time we live in now, the chances of a female civilian, or a female prisoner of war to get raped, have decreased by a huge amount. I believe in numbers. I don't worry about such a thing happening to me."
It was not a normal guard that came to my cell, I had heard other soldiers salute to their superior. Even though it was in another language, a soldier's instincts can tell you when someone is a high-ranking official in the army, especially in times of war.
The pow camp was underground and dark. I hadn't seen the sun in days, and had lost my day and night cycle pretty fast. I wondered why the camp was not illuminated. 'Is that some kind of legal torture? Depriving people of light?'
I could not see the person who stood in front of my cell. I was only able to hear a few breaths being taken through a stuffed nose.
"You are fucking crazy... Yet, I have never heard anything so wonderful in my entire life." The man confessed. "You managed to survive a whole month without food and light. When was it that you realized your comrades had died?"
I did not react to his provocations, nor did I care about my comrades. 'The men in my squad should be ashamed. Dying before a woman...'
"What's your name?" I asked the man behind the bars.
"Why do you want to know? Do you hope to survive and report me?" The man questioned, pride accompanying his words.
"No. I'm just bored. Learning about your name can be a source of ideas and thoughts. I'm sure you understand." I let him know.
"Hmm. I will come see you again." The man left.
I didn't know if he was ever coming back to see me. He was the only one that talked to me after all of my comrades had died. My sense of time was off. And what could've been hours or days, felt like weeks or months. I hoped he would come back, I hoped we would be able to speak again. I knew that my mind was at its limits. It felt like my mind was asking my soul to just quit, but my soul didn't allow my mind to shatter.
***
*Click*Clack*
["Sir!"] A pair of guards outside of the bunker saluted, after the door was opened.
"You are back. And here I thought I was lied to." I said.
"I do many things, but lying isn't one of them."
"Why did you come back?" I questioned.
"I couldn't get your words out of my head, and I wanted to hear more about you." He confessed again.
I did not answer him. I just laid on the dirt covered floor and tried to make myself as comfortable as possible.
"Wouldn't that benefit us both? Think of it as a game. You tell me things about your life, and I do the same." He tried to convince me.
"I have more siblings than I can count, and I'm the black sheep of the family. Good combination, right? You see, in my family, traditions have always played a big role. Everybody followed the traditional rules, but I didn't. I never saw a reason to let myself be controlled. But I was sometimes left with no choice. The black sheep's story always begins harshly, as did my story. It didn't take long for my siblings to notice that I was different from them. Hence, I was picked on. You can guess how that turned out. I began to despise my family, and even now, I hate every single one of those controlled pieces of shit! To survive, I followed a few family traditions, one of them was fighting for my country. I do, as you can see. 'Go and regain your lost honor', they said. And now, it has come to this. I will die, or I live. I win either way. I die and I'm free, I live and escape from my family's control. You could also do me the favor and shoot me. I'm bound to break in a few days, you know? Only water for a month? You can't possibly think that's good."
"You are very interesting, yet so crazy. Survive for my pleasure, I will bring you food." The man behind the bars promised.
Hours or days passed again.
["Sir!"] The same soldiers saluted.
The man's footsteps bounced around the cell blocks. A smell pierced through my numb nose. I had forgotten that I could smell.
"Soup!" I yelled and grabbed the cell's bars.
I was so hungry that my instincts had taken over. My bony hands barely managed to grab the bars, and my bony legs barely withstood my energy-deprived body's weight. Many of my muscles started to cramp.
"AH!" I yelled in pain.
My pride did not allow me to continue screaming, and my consciousness took over again. My instinctive actions were under control again.
"Yes. Soup. Here, have it." The man handed me a bowl of soup. "Pfu!"
'Of course he had to spit in it...'
I grabbed the heavy bowl of soup through a small hole inside the bars. I sat down and carefully drank the hot soup.
Inevitably, my body acted on its own. The hormones released from just a single spoon of soup were so overwhelming that I could not stop myself from crying.
"Hic!"
*Slurf*
"Hic!"
*Slurf*
Between every hic, I drank another spoon full of soup. I cried so much, my eyes began to burn, and my soup became saltier.
Even though I accepted death, my body was relieved. A simple soup - that was probably watered down - had made me act so differently.
"I wish I could torment you in the same way. I believe in empathy. What was caused, should be experienced first-hand." I spat.
"Shouldn't you be more thankful?"
"I don't like having to repeat myself. I said it was a win win situation for me. I die or I live. The values of life and death are the same to me.