Am I... touching grass? The sensation of soft, tickling blades brushed against my palms, sending a curious shiver down my spine. It wasn't just my hands; it was as if the entire world around me was a living, breathing entity. A whirlpool of discomfort churned within me, like my insides were caught in a relentless washing machine cycle, threatening to induce nausea.
Slowly, my vision cleared as I blinked against the blinding onslaught of light. I winced, my face contorted in discomfort as my eyes struggled to adapt to the intensity.
When my eyes had adjusted to the sunlight, or whatever light it was, I could see a strange-looking town a few kilometers away from me.
I looked around frantically, my brain checking every single memory to find out if I knew where this place was.
I felt incredibly sick and unsure about where I was, and my mind flooded with questions. Where am I? What should I do? Where are my comrades? Why am I panicking so much?! How do I slow down my thoughts?! Have I been taken by an enemy group?!
I forcefully shut down my thoughts and sat down cross-legged, taking a few deep breaths. I felt the air blowing on my face. As I was out here with my lonesome, with a grassland going for kilometres around me, my rabid thoughts slowly came to a standstill, and my mind started to only focus on what was in front of me.
It took a while to calm down because soldiers should always be wary of their surroundings. Unfortunately, I have no idea how I ended up here.
I did know one thing. I needed some shelter for the night. Laying out here in the open might attract some unwanted attention and I would be too defenseless.
I slowly walked to the town I saw in the distance. I snuck into the town while the guards were sleeping and saw a place that seemed to have emerged from the annals of medieval history, both strange and captivating.
I was still wearing my combat uniform. I vividly remember patrolling Kabul, and it was a pretty peaceful night.... But my recollection was hazy beyond that point, a void where memories should have been.
These people here... they don't seem to have as much technology as what I'm used to. Men toiled in dirtied clothes, worn by labor, while women draped themselves in flowing garments that gracefully brushed their ankles. Some of them were staring at me like I was an extinct creature. It has to be because of my combat uniform.
I saw a small store on the side of the trail which had some, chairs, and I thought I could sit there and clear my mind a bit. There were drunkards all around, probably drinking off all their depression. Little did they know, that they would feel way worse after wasting all that money. I sat down on a chair, next to the store which sold beverages. The chair was carved out of wood, and was more like a stump than an actual chair.
There's no way these people will know my language right? Let's give it a try. "Salam." I greeted a bearded man, who was downing his alcohol. He looked at me like I was crazy. Plus, my outfit didn't help at all. "Hmm? What?" He asked in English. Oh, English. I should have tried that first. How silly of me. "Hello." I tell him, waving my hand awkwardly even though I'm sitting right next to him. "Hello, to you as well, young man." He said, his words slurred by the effects of alcohol. I noted his ability to handle the drink, a skill honed over time.
"What's with that...uh.." The bearded man pointed his finger to my outfit, clearly confused. "Oh...that's...my uniform.." I said, not knowing what to say. I had one arm on the table, with my elbow giving me support.
"Sir, if you don't mind...can you tell me what this place is called?" I asked the bearded man.
I was hoping that he wouldn't question me too much in return.
"Larstown." The bearded man replied, coughing afterward. I looked at him with concern for his health. The man had somewhat of a belly, which was probably due to years of drinking.
But seriously, Larstown? The first time I've heard of such a place. I'm clearly not anywhere near my base camp.
"Sir, you shouldn't drink too much." I told him.
His response was a mixture of annoyance and resignation. "Tch...Shut up, young man. When you get to my age....(coughs) you will have a lot on your mind. You'll want to wash it all away."
I took a look around me. There were men limping around, as if they had been working the entire day, non-stop. There were posh-looking men and women as well, obviously a higher class than the drunk men lazing around in this shack of a store. The lower-class women went about their business, but were clearly cautious about something. Constant vigilance, fear in their eyes.
I looked back at the bearded drunk man, his eyes showing a deep sense of hopelessness. I wanted to know what was going on with him. I had to know.
"Sir, what's going on over here? Can you tell me why you look so.....torn?" I asked him, a mixture of emotions building within me. It was a mixture of anger and worry.
The bearded man laughs in response, but his laugh is interrupted by his cough. "Young man, I don't know where you come from... but you're clearly not from around here. That's why you should know....that this place is a hellhole."
"How so?" I asked him, eager for his response. He takes another long gulp from his bottle, but I slowly snatched the bottle from his grasp and placed it away from him.
"What did you do that for, boy?!" He asked, slamming his fist on the table and glaring at me.
"With all due respect, sir, you're going to ruin yourself if you keep drinking like this. Please, tell me what happened to you and the other men here. Why do the women look so scared? I want to know it all." I asked him in a stern but respectful manner.
He looked into my eyes, and his facial expression softened, as if he had found someone with whom he could share his worries.
"We're trapped. In an endless cycle of... pain and misery. Something like... a dark hole you can never crawl out of." His face contorted in sorrow and frustration as he spoke.
"What do you mean, sir?" I asked, looking right into his eyes.
"I swear... if I get my hands on that bastard... Lars... I'll... rip him apart!" He said, clenching his fists tightly.
Lars? I wondered who this man was, and why this bearded man's heart was so venomous towards him.
"My wife! She can't even... walk safely on these damn streets. Those bastard nobles, they think they can do whatever the hell they want. They come in one day, take any woman off the streets and she's never heard of again." He sobbed as he spoke. I could sense a feeling of hopelessness and self-loathing from him.
"Is that why... the women here look so scared?" I asked him, leaning closer, desperate to know more.
"You're damn right." He said, his face in his hands, and his elbows on the table. He continued to cry. I waited until he stopped.
"So women get taken against their will, and you people don't do anything about it?" I asked him firmly.
He stood up and grabbed my collar, as his chair fell backward. "What did you say, you brat?! You think I'm a coward?!" He fumed. He stared right into my eyes. I could feel his breath on my face. His breath reeked of alcohol.
The men around us started to look at us, amused, as if there was going to be a bar fight.
"You think we sit on our asses all day, not a care in the world about what's happening to our women?! What do you even know about our situation? Have you ever felt so hopeless and cornered like us?! Not having a say in anything, so exhausted by being overworked that you can't even put up a damn fight?! You think you're tough, young man? Heck, you haven't been in a fight at all, have you?" He said, still grabbing onto my collar.
The entire store was silent; the men were all looking at us, waiting for what's about to happen next. The shopkeeper went on about his daily work, unbothered about our little scuffle, as if he's used to situations like this. The clinking sounds of glasses being arranged and handled by the shopkeeper filled the room.
"Sir, I never assumed anything about your resolve. And I hope you don't assume anything about me either." I said, not a single hint of fear in my voice and not breaking eye contact with him.
"Who the hell are you? And why the hell do you want to know about us?" The bearded man asked, not letting go of my collar.
"I'm just a normal man, who comes from a normal place. Unfortunately, I can't tell you my name. But I can tell you this... the fools who are making your lives miserable will never even think about looking you in the eyes once I'm done with them." I said, my eyes filled with resolve.
The bearded man's grip loosened. He looked surprised and confused. "Why? What's in it for you?" He asked, letting go of my collar.
The men around us watched in awe and curiosity.
I adjusted my collar and picked up the chair the bearded man toppled over when he got up to grab my collar.
"It's simple really. Would you just sit back and watch something bad happen when you actually have the power to stop it?" I asked, firmly. The bearded man sat down on his chair and smirked. I sat down on my chair as well.
"So you're saying... you can take on the nobles and their soldiers? Somehow... I don't doubt you at all." The bearded man said, looking down.
"The young man's got spirit, I'll give him that." A man sitting on a table next to us said.
He had a thick mustache and a clean-shaven beard. He finished his drink in one go and slammed the glass on the table. "Maybe the day has come, old William. The day that we fight back against those... scoundrels." He continued.
Suddenly, a loud scream was heard outside. It was the voice of a woman.
The bearded man slammed his fist on the table. "Damn it. Another one today." He said, glaring outside through the windows.
I got up from my chair, and pushed it into the table. I looked over at the shopkeeper and said firmly, trying to control my emotions.
"Thank you for your hospitality, sir." I said, nodding at the shopkeeper.
"Young man..." The bearded man said, looking at me, as if he was worried.
The shopkeeper nodded back and continued with his work. I took a deep breath and walked towards the door.
"Sir, just stop drinking from now on. I'm sure your wife is worried for you." I said to the bearded man.
I pulled out my pistol, and loaded it, as I walked out the door.
Pray they never see me pull the trigger.