The No Name and the Soldier

I few months ago, I decided I needed an outlet for everything that happens in my life. Not that all that much happens, but there is an undeniable truth in my life that I don’t open up very often to anyone. So I decided to write a book. A book that contains partial truths, that draws from everything in the little social sphere around me. But don’t misunderstand me, I wasn’t in any way writing a set of memoirs, in fact quite the opposite. I was writing a work of fiction. And right now, the skills I’ve picked up, like internal narration actually seem to be helping me come to terms with what I have just done. Removing myself, and becoming a third person to my own screwed up life is helping me compartmentalise.

I have a similar story to most characters you see in books, shows and movies. Number one, a tragedy earlier in my life in the form of the day both of my parents mysteriously dropped dead. Number two, a successful job in the media industry, thanks mostly to my degree in journalism. Number three, a great body that, believe me, I have worked my arse off for. But the fourth part of my life, my handsome doting boyfriend ends here, and my new life begins.

I don’t have a name, not anymore. See, exactly one minute and thirty three seconds ago, I killed the man I was in love with.

I can still hear the little girl scream and cry and in my mind’s eye, and I watch her escape from his clutches and run out the door. At least she’s safe, I keep repeating to myself.

I have to say, I’m relatively calm for a person who just took the life of another. Am I in shock? I’m just staring blankly at a wall that is now stained red. My eyes strain to see his lifeless body slumped on the ground of the warehouse. It was freezing in here. Is that because of the temperature, because most of this place is metal, or because I just shot a man at point blank range and am now covered in his blood?

It was life or death, I swear! And I promise, if there was some other way of ending all of this, I would have found it.

It all happened too fast to contemplate and there is ultimately a new and relatively easy answer to the question you’re thinking right now – why?

Granted, I’m still not entirely certain on all the details. They have only been able to tell me parts of an incredibly indescribable and frankly unbelievable set of circumstances that have led me to hold this gun.

Let’s just say, my boyfriend, or I guess, my ex-boyfriend happened to kill my family five years before meeting me. It was part of an initiation into a group of elite misfits who were on a crusade to better the world we live in by bringing the ancient ways back.

Apparently, the whack jobs basically went around killing people in the hopes of finding the chosen one who would bring about the destruction of the technological era. They wanted a world where technology didn’t exist. The world will become pure, and only the tough will survive, was one of their main philosophies according to their manifesto. But the ironic thing about their holier-than-thou plan, is that they use technology in the form of military grade weaponry, medical remedies and surveillance to complete their mission of destroying everything tainted by the progression of science.

“Are you alright? Hey, you had to do it, okay? He was about to kill that little girl and you saved her. If he had the chance, he would have killed us all”, I recognise the voice, but it seems so distant. It was male, deep, with a British accent. I was beginning to get trapped in my head. Going around in circles about whether I did the right thing. I mean, yeah, that son of a bitch was evil, but did that warrant me killing him? What does that make me now?

I suddenly realise I have been standing in the exact same position, clenching the gun so hard my hand was turning white. I drop the gun, and only hear the metallic bang vaguely.

I look to my right and see the soldier who had just said those things to me groaning as he stands up. He’s tall, and strong, but he’s been shot in the shoulder. He comes over to me keeping his arm at his side. When he reaches me, with his good arm he grabs my hand with his and pulls me away from one of the darkest days of my life, but somehow it brought with it a sense of clarity.

By Naomi Eleanor