April 11, 2008
"I was born alive. Isn't that punishment enough?"
-Mary Hendrickson, at her trial for patricide
In the last few seconds of her life, Rebecca’s eyes called out to say, I love you. Don’t forget me.
Never, I promise you. His eyes screamed out in equal, if not worse, pain. With the last syllable of his words floating in the air to meet her ears, Rebecca’s soul flew from her body to dissolve in the air above the two lovers. The diamond-glimmer in her eye faded. The diamond-glimmer that defined her soul and love for her only beloved, Grey. He sat by her bedside for hours holding her hand as he would if her blood flowed freely through her veins.
Soldiers, nurses, and doctors walked by the room trying not glimpse inside at the tragedy manifesting itself. Grey was thankful for this courtesy. He knew soon the gravediggers would come to retrieve the body for disposal, yet the muscles in his arms would not soften their grasp upon her hand. It was not time for her to go. It was not time for love to leave. It was wrong, unfair, unjust. All his life love has fallen to the power of mortality like quicksand. What has he done to deserve such pain? Such continuous torment?
I promise you with the last breath in my lungs, you will not be forgotten. Not for a day, not for a second. Without you there is no reason for love, no reason for happiness. No truth in knowing anything other than pain awaits me--I love you.
Grey leaned in to kiss his beloved for the very last time before she became ash and dust in the lungs of thousands. As he rose to his feet, his heart skipped a beat. Upon her cheek, the very cheek he had seconds ago kissed so softly, was an imprint of his tender, loving lips. A sign to take with you. My kiss is yours and yours alone. His back turned to the deceased and he walked out the open door into the war.
Keeping a promise is relative to the person and situation you happen to have given the promise. A promise to a dog that you will buy a new bone is questionable. The promise to children that you will love them forever is sacred. Grey’s promise to his only love was sitting high above any promise ever written or spoken by man or entity. It was not only a promise but an oath of loyalty and commitment. To break it would be reliving Rebecca’s death for eternity; an eternity of grieving with no closure, no hope for complacency. No hope at all.
The soldier kept to his word with distinct conviction. Never did he stray from the oath. Never did he bend the perception of what it meant. With the words reverberating throughout his head in a loop, he felt the pain and wanted nothing but to see Rebecca’s beauty once again. To hold her in his arms and kiss her lips swollen with love and passion, made emotions fly like a flock of wild geese. At one moment, he would feel joy to believe one day they would meet again. At another instance, he felt hate; hate that she left so soon, hate that she left without him, hate that the one day they would be together again, had not been the previous day.
Time seemed an enemy all his life. When he used to spend days with Rebecca, time sped around the face of the clock as if being chased by the Devil himself. Now, when Grey welcomed time’s speedy legs, it crawled like a leper. The only thing that ever passed the time was the war; bombs exploding mere yards away. It never mattered, it wasn’t like it bothered him much. In fact, he hoped one day the bomb would land perfectly on top of his head. Only then, time would have no say in when he died. Unfortunately, the bombs fell without his death, and time sustained its crawl.
Brown bags, that matched the color of his uniform, developed under his eyes. Sleep also seemed to be an enemy. It never let him fall too deeply, because that’s when people “die of natural causes”. Perhaps Sleep was in cahoots with Time. Over the years, Grey learned to live without sufficient sleep in hopes he would keel over from exhaustion.
The war was nearing its second year. The body count was rapidly closing on thirteen-million. Still, it grew every day, ever minute, every second. No one knew what the war was about anymore. Even if they did, the reason gave the actions and deaths of over thirteen-million people no justification.
Grey, the soldier, never had a real idea, or perspective, about the war; no truly thought out opinion. At least not while Rebecca was around. They were safe together; love kept them safe. Every evening he would walk home through the underground bunkers to find her falling asleep in the bed they shared. Now he dutifully fulfilled his job to come home to an empty bed. His heart could not find the strength to change the sheets since she last slept in that very bed. The fading impression of her body on the old, lumpy mattress soothed his mind as his hand maneuvered over it every night, allowing him to sleep the few hours the Sandman allowed. The Sandman waited all night in the bunker next to Grey conversing about life, love, and then the inevitable death. Normally, the personification of a fictional character, such as the Sandman, would be an absurd idea. Similar to his conversations with the Sandman, Grey’s rationalizing had become absurd.
It was Rebecca’s absence that opened up his mind. He saw the war for what it really was. It was an extinction, a genocide; men killing men, women beating women, children being slain by both, dead bodies eaten by savages from the jungle, afternoon raping by the soldiers on women of the village (sadly, alive and dead). The world was coming to an end. He could feel it in his soul. Knowing this, he felt oddly at peace. Not complacency, but true peace. The peace came from knowing that his own death would lead him to Heaven to finally be with his beloved again. It was something he had not felt in years. He felt it his obligation to provoke death, total genocide, to finally find his bliss in death. War was now his love. Day to day, the “War upon Living Things” grew consciously and subconsciously. Grey knew to find death for himself, and the world, would be to ultimately find happiness for himself as well. It would be the only way to keep his promise to Rebecca.
Death by gunshot, bombs, and stabbing turned into mass murders and suicides by the people. Some would willingly follow the soldiers to concentration camps where they would be executed. However, many others would slit their throats and allow their families to use their bodies for sustenance. Whichever way the deaths occurred, they occurred in mass quantities.
Grey was stationed at the first concentration camp developed for the mass homicide purposes. His ranking was far superior to be organizing a death machine. Nonetheless, he fought for the opportunity to engage in murder. Murder was his stepping stone to be with Rebecca. At no costs would his words falter now.
Far into a day when the clouds congregated to make a rainy threat, Grey found something waving in the crowds. Eyes. A woman’s eyes for a man could never have such purity. They were magnificent. Never in his life, aside from Rebecca, has a pair of eyes been so spellbinding. They called to him, but before he could escape the gaze and appreciate the face that held them, they were swallowed by the crowd.
“Stop!”
“What, sir?”
“I said stop! You damn fool.” Grey yelled at his Lower Ranks with spontaneity. Under his breath Grey spoke with a fiery gaze.
“Stop the crowds, hose them down, and order them in lines. I have no remorse for killing my brother, so I will do nothing less than bathe in your blood if my demands are not met.” Grey’s heart did not beat any faster since his words were not lies. However, the pee-on being spoken to was ironically peeing on himself with fear. Persuasion worked easily with people when death was on the line, even though death was inevitable given the circumstances.
“Y-y-y-yes, sir.” Grey remembered the stuttering bastard. He felt conflicted towards this soldier. On one hand, he was sorry for hurting his spirit. On the other, heartbreak and disappointment loomed around every tick of the clock. Why should he spare this stuttering soldier any heartbreak or disappoint?
Anxiously Grey waited to see the lines form. In most cases he would be underground during the wait, but with the eyes he had seen, waiting was not an option. Seeing those eyes in the crowd, brought vivid memories of Rebecca. They brought hope that she evaded the grasp of either Satan or God and found a way back to Earth to be with him. If the eyes were not her own, it brought a hope to imply her spirit never died. Perhaps her love still resided in the Earth awaiting his love. Now, his heart fluttered. Love was approaching in one of the lines.
Lines formed within minutes. At each end stood a man. The judge, the jury, and the executioner. Verdict, guilty. Sentence, death. Execution, God Fucking Bless You!
The eyes did not appear. Grey began to lose faith in anything he once felt. The disappointment beckoned his heart to fall to the soles of his feet and settle for the dirt of the Earth. A duck he appeared--outside at ease, while inside paddling for survival, until the eyes met his. Rebecca? His hands dropped from his belt, his face melted from its stone mold, his heart grew wings to fly up to his chest.
"Rebecca!” All seven men conducting the mass murdering in the cleanly formed lines, turned from their duties. Chaos broke out amongst the crowd. As much as the people had no strength to fight, they did not want to die. It was chaos. Men broke down in tears, women yelled to the heavens for help, and children stood stunned without clue what was happening.
Grey’s eyes broke away from the chaotic crowd and focused only on the hope that love was near. The face was nothing like Rebecca but a face was nothing but a superficial facet in human-to-human conditions. The only facet he wanted to truly believe resided in the woman’s eyes. Religion had no part in this; all it came down to was desperation for love, the ability to regain a love taken too soon. His legs pumped, striding toward a necessity he was deprived. Air, water, food, shelter; they meant nothing. Love. Love was all he needed. Life with love was Heaven. Life without love was not life, but a façade, a hollow shell, a meaningless dimension.
The crowd moved at his will. At times he did not feel as if he laid a single finger on a person or any part of his feet on the ground, but his movement was an act of angels lifting him above the crowds to his beloved. Abruptly, he stopped in front of the petite Woman with the Eyes of Rebecca. His eyes fell into her’s as if they had been lovers for years.
“What are you doing? Sir! What is it that you are doing?” Grey could hear the shouts and yells of the men from the Execution Squad. Some sounded curious toward his actions, others were angered.
“Sir!” Finally, Grey’s head whipped around to see the men pushing their way through the crowd not having the same ease he had before. In their hands were semi-automatic weapons with intent to kill the higher ranking officer for his misconduct.
Grey turned toward the Woman with Rebecca’s Eyes, grabbed her hand, and began to run off with her. He pulled her at first, trying to arouse urgency in her movements. Eventually, she saw and heard the shots being fired by the men chasing after them and realized her life was being saved.
The higher ranking officer knew the ways of the jungle, knew the terrain, knew the thoughts popping like popcorn through the heads of the other soldiers. All could be controlled--location, timing, survival. But what scared him more than the soldiers vying to dismember him and share the remains among the poor, was love. Indeed he found the Woman with Rebecca’s Eyes. Indeed she felt safe enough with him to follow his lead. Indeed she gave him some sort of peace of mind that had not stirred in his blood for many, many years. What was it that gave him that peace? What about those eyes were Rebecca’s? The color, the look, the size, the shape? No. For sure, it was none of that. But what truly rapped on his forehead for an answer was whether or not the soul released from the eyes happened to actually be Rebecca. Had she found a way back? Did she still love him as he loved her? Would she travel through the depths of Hell or resist the tempting bliss of Heaven to reunite with her lover?
They ran for miles hand in hand.
As the foliage thickened, their pace slowed. No reason to burn themselves out in the dense jungle where they could not be found anyway. The Woman with Rebecca’s Eyes seemed confused, but Grey wanted nothing to do with the idea of confusion. All he focused on was escape from this cruel war. War was the addiction that took the place of his previous addiction, love. Now, with hope in his heart, the actions and reasons for war were meaningless to him. He walked thinking of nothing but the soft skin between his fingers as his hand held the hand of the Woman with Rebecca’s Eyes.
Dusk broadened purple and orange colors throughout the jungle. The two sat in silence. Grey was unsure whether or not the woman could speak or understand his language. Nevertheless, the attempt was made.
“Who are you? I am here to help you.” She jumped at the sudden words from Grey’s mouth. It was not long ago when she feared a man in the identical uniform. They were there to kill her people; now he offers companionship.
Not since being with Rebecca has he been able to show his feelings as freely as he did now. A subtle trickle of tears manifested into muscle-jerking sobs. His face became contorted with the force being released as he cried out the pain, hurt, and fear of this woman not actually being dear Rebecca. “On the life of my beloved Rebecca,” he paused to wipe the tears from his face. “On the life of my beloved Rebecca, you will be safe in my arms. Death has no power over your mortality until it passes through my will to love.”
Although the woman did not understand a single word spoken by the bloodied, exhausted, dirty soldier, she excreted her own set of tears. Grey noticed this with an unexpected idea of wonderment. Were the tears a sign of emotional connection from some source stronger than the woman alone? Perhaps Rebecca was reaching out to him through her. Or were the tears a demonstration of fear? Fear that the man sitting before her was crazy and losing his mind from the trauma of war. Did she believe he would kill her in his fit of emotions? If she did not understand what he said to her, there was a good chance she feared the soldier greatly.
With great effort, Grey held his tears to reach out to the Woman with Rebecca’s Eyes. His hand was caked with mud and blood, yet for some reason she did not withdraw. Her head was stationary in acceptance to the gesture he was making. He brushed the dark green leaves from her face along with the strands of hair blocking his view into her eyes. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
Although he kept his emotions from raging once again, she was not as successful. A tear, a single tear of purity, fear, and hope (?) fell down her cheek. With the tear falling, her hand jumped to meet his at her face. Her hand held his. The look in her eyes was seductive. She pulled Grey’s hand around her back to watch his body follow. He embraced her with the passion of an innocent man released from exile.
The embrace produced the most sincere convergence of human flesh and emotion ever witnessed to mankind in the history of Heaven or Hell. For that split second, as they held each other in one another’s arms, both felt love. The Woman with Rebecca’s Eyes probably for the first time, and Grey for the first time since his lover’s death. Nothing in the world was a factor. If night reigned upon man forever, neither would have cared; their hearts would have shown them the way. If the most agonizing pain was inflicted upon them; they would not have noticed anything but the other’s touch. A touch so sweet and exotic that angels themselves coveted their love.
Still, it was in this second that Grey realized this woman was indeed Rebecca. In some form, whether it be possession or phantasm reaching out through the woman’s body, the Woman with Rebecca’s Eyes did not only have Rebecca’s eyes, but her soul was Rebecca’s as well.
Their grip upon one another loosened as their eyes met. Grey looked for one thing. He looked for the sparkle. With the night over their heads, he had to widen his eyes in order to locate that beautiful diamond-glimmer. His hands, which pulsed with adrenaline while they embraced, grew cold and limp as his eyes adapted but the diamond-glimmer did not show itself. Behind the Woman with Rebecca’s Eyes, the moon rose steadily in the short ten seconds that followed. The moon was at eye’s level with Grey as he sat. After five seconds, the moon was at the peak of its orbit in the sky. The light shined perfectly to reveal the diamond-glimmer.
His mouth broadened to a smile.
Immediately a shot rang through jungle causing the leaves and bugs to vibrate in the shockwave.
The Woman with Rebecca’s Eyes began to smile back as the sound of the bullet closed in between the lovers. Two bullets, one right after the other, flew through chest like sadistic shooting stars promising wishes all around the world. Grey was not promised a wish by these shooting stars, they only promised more pain. The diamond-glimmer and Rebecca’s soul was gone once again. Grey’s arms held strong around the waist of the woman slowly lowering her body to the ground. He wept as her heart stopped beating.
Instinctively, Grey bound to his feet very aware that the shooter, the executioner, was still nearby. Swiftly, he ran into the lower lands of the jungle were the snakes and spiders ruled the waters and trees. The sharp leaves, poisonous plants, and deep ditches were luckily avoided by the galloping man down the slippery slopes of what, at this point in his life, was Hell. Twice he lost the same love prematurely. As he made his way down to the lower lands, Grey remembered the perception of Hell from Sisyphus. Condemned for the rest of eternity Sisyphus pushed a boulder up a mountain for the end result to have the boulder roll back down. It was now that Grey realized that his life was the exact same. Until his death, Grey would search for, and find, Rebecca’s soul reaching out for him just to have it taken away. Elation to depression.
The ground was solid in the lower lands. This is the gate of Hell. Solid to keep the rotten from escaping. Grey collapsed on the solid ground. The moon was still high, shining bright on the jungle. Everywhere was cracked and dry; all except the small plot of land surrounding his head where he lay. Tears watered the ground like rain in the Amazon. The cracks beneath Grey’s head opened up to swallow its nutrition. But after a few seconds, while Grey still wept and tears continued to water the ground, the earth threw the tears back up rejecting their contribution. The tears were sorrow-laden. To create and protect life, happiness must be a source. Sorrow only destroys life. The cracks sunk deeper into the ground desperate for pure water, water of a soul not tortured.
Grey felt the ground sink. Part of him wanted the ground to sink to Hell where he would live amongst the miserable. Another part wanted to still find Rebecca’s soul, no matter if it was snatched away only seconds after his discovery. To have that brief moment when his soul wrapped around her own soul, made the world a place of magic and wonderment.
“You went fucking AWOL.” A voice came from out of nowhere to greet Grey as he lay on the ground. He lifted his head to see a silhouette standing three yards from his sprawled body, with a rifle in hand.
“Betrayal will make a man strong, determined…but desperate.” The soldier moved a foot closer with a cautious step. “You betrayed us. And I’m here to exact our revenge.” Grey knew he was right, the night was dark and he could not see his assailant’s face…Not until he stepped that foot closer.
“Please don‘t do this.” Grey recognized the man as the stuttering soldier he made soil his pants before thousands of death sentenced villagers and hundreds of comrades. “I live for love. Please do not kill me.”
“What does it matter? We’re all dying anyway.” The stuttering soldier cackled. While the laugh escaladed, Grey moved his hands tight to his body ready to jump at the murderer. At this thought, he realized they were no different. As this man, cackling for revenge, had killed a hope and love for Grey, had not Grey slashed and burned hope and love for thousands?
“Kill me!” Grey’s body went limp and flattened out over the cracked ground. “Kill me, please.” His speech was sporadically broken up by his weeping episode. “Please, God, kill me. I can’t live with this pain.” The stuttering soldier stood in confusion. In response to Grey’s pain, he realized his guilt. Nonetheless, he did not lower the gun.
Grey’s mouth continued to move with strings of saliva connecting his lips as they pulled apart, but no words were heard. Only the glisten of fresh, painful tears truly displayed who and what, now, defined the man known as Grey. “Please. Please, kill me.” The broken man curled up in a ball to weep in his own arms as he hugged himself for a false sense of comfort.
Slowly, the armed soldier pulled the rifle up toward his shoulder to aim. His hands shook with fear, desperation to leave the situation, and anxiety to finish it. Between the circumstances the soldier was thrown into and the understanding of his life’s doing as of late, he himself sobbed. All his focus was on controlling the shaking of his chest as he cried. His hands were trained, his eyes were acutely accurate, but his emotions could not be tamed.
“Kill me! Kill me! Kill--” Grey was cut off. A shot was fired. Blood ran down the sides of his face.
Another shot was fired. The stuttering soldier’s head exploded high into the air and landed before his body fell to the ground.
Before being killed, Grey cried with a horrible look of pain. Looking at his face after being shot in the head, you never would have guessed him to be a tormented soul. As the bullet rushed towards him, a content look washed away the sorrow. He knew his death was not in vain. He would see his beloved Rebecca again. Similar to Sisyphus, he would live eternity with only one purpose. However, unlike Sisyphus, his goal was not to be demoralized by a falling boulder, but to be happy with his beloved. Not a punishment at all, but a blessing.