Post by CptNemo on Mar 2, 2006 23:57:44 GMT -5
A Day at the Graves
They came to our village in search of help. Father said that I wouldn’t be going, only the older, more fit peoples in our town. My big brother Lionel will be going, he’s fourteen. I begged my father, told him I can help, and that I’m not a little child, but he said I was too young and that he didn’t want me to see what was happening.
Many were already gathered in the town plaza, and soldiers called for all able bodied men and women. I protested, I really wanted to help!
“I’m eleven now! Please, I can help!”
He hung his head low and sighed, he didn’t look up to arguing anymore. “Son, I will let you come, but only on one condition.”
“Yes, I’ll do anything!” I said quickly.
“Promise me now that whatever you see, whatever you witness, you will be a big boy for me. You are expected to work, and I can’t keep an eye on you.”
I swallowed hard, “What kind of work, daddy?”
“Well, you will see in time. That is if you decide to come. I’m not going to keep you, I think its about time you can start making decisions for yourself.”
“Yes it is!” I said, puffing out my chest.
He let a weak chuckle, and patted me on the head. “Okay, come with me. Now you promised me, so there’s no going back.”
I nodded, and we set out the front door, Lionel and mother behind us. Finally, I will get to see where they have been going these last few days! I felt important, helpful.
At the plaza, most of the town had already gathered. We waited our turn in the queue, and finally we clambered up into the back of a massive flatbed truck along with many other people. Everybody was here! Mr. Jerinston from the bakery, Mrs. Lilthrope, a teacher at the school, and even Mr. Dawson, our town priest!
I was excited now, thinking of all the places we might be going; a picnic perhaps. But nobody seemed to be as happy as me, for no one smiled, or even hinted at one in that case.
“Hello, Mrs. Lilthrope!,” I said, and turned to face her. She looked tired and drawn.
“Oh, what are you doing here, Craigge? You are much too young!” She said with a gasp.
“Father says I can come, because I’m old enough to make my own decisions!” I replied with a wide smile, but she didn’t seem to warm up.
The truck lurched forward, and we were off. It was a loud, screechy machine belching black exhaust from its vents. There were many of the same type of trucks ahead of us, as well as behind, and I could see the heads of people bobbing as they hit potholes and bumps.
I sat back on the wooden bench, feeling the warm spring sun across my body. We made our way down the mountainside, and I noticed the first of the spring wildflowers were blooming. It was going to be a great day, I thought to myself; out to the meadows the pick flowers and berries that we had normally done on such occasions...I closed my eyes, and let the sun and spring breeze take me.
I dozed off from time to time, occasional peeking out to see what was happening. Without warning, the truck gave a loud moan as the brakes struggled to slow us, and came to a stop. A second later a guardsman with a cigarette dangling between his lips came around to the back. He nodded at me, and I returned it with a small wave. He fiddled with the latches, and hoisted the metal bracket away. Something seemed to be telling me that things were going to be different than what I had thought.
I jumped down from the back with the rest of the people aboard. It was odd, the ground was blackened, and the small scrub trees that were normally blossoming with pink, velvety flowers were no more than dead and charred scrubs. Looking out farther I could see that it went on for miles. Anything and everything in the valley between the two mountain ranges was blackened and desolate. A wind came over us, bringing a warm stench and a mournful, lonely howl. The sun was even blocked by the gathering clouds now, as if to add to the effect of it. I felt cold and separated, as if this blackened landscape was siphoning off my soul.
“I told you it wouldn’t be pretty,” my father whispered to me, standing at my side.
“Is this from the war?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
I knew about the war, and that it was still being fought, just not here anymore.
Tears were filling my eyes. Off in the distance was another work gang, the people milling around, well that’s what it looked at this distance. A few soldiers lead us off into the wastes, and I stayed close to my father’s side. It was so bleak out here. A fierce wind kicked up ash and dust that stung me hard on the face and bare skin. At either side human bodies and remains lined the worn path; I shut my eyes and turned away. Father’s arms wrapped around my shoulder, but nothing seemed to help.
“We’ll start here. You know what to do,” said a soldier in the front after a few minutes of hiking.
I looked around to see the towns people spreading out in no particular direction. An older woman bent down and grabbed a charred body by the wrists. A chill ran down me as I watched her struggle to drag the body, but she managed, and dropped it into a nearby trench work. It hit with a hollow, unmistakable thud.
“Here lad, take this. Just fill in the dirt,” said a man as he handed me a shovel. Father said to follow orders.
I walked over to the trench, careful not to trip on anything. A girl, just a few years older than me, was already shoveling dirt onto the bodies in the hole. She looked up, her face streaked with soot and ash, and forced a weak smile. I hammered the blade into the blackened earth with all my might, and worked it around a bit to get a good load, then turned to empty it. Slowly, it filled, the bodies disappearing a little at a time with each scoop.
Mr. Dawson came over with yet another body. He was old, and battled to get the bulky corpse into the trench.
“How do you do it?” I asked him, tears beginning to flow down my face. He looked at me, and smiled. How could anyone muster a smile in this place?
“I live this life until this life won’t let me live here anymore, then I will walk with patience through that open door. I have no fears, Angels follow me wherever I may go.”
His voice may have been feeble, but it was all I needed to hear, even if it didn’t make much sense. After a moment I turned back and drove my spade deep into the earth with renewed strength.
We worked day after day, and in any type of weather. The blisters I could get used to, but the lost lives I could not. Each face I saw was that of a different person that had lead a life somewhere, had family somewhere. They may never know that he will never be coming home again, but only to lay here in a god forsaken valley of death and waste.
But as tragic as it may have seemed, life always begins anew. As the days passes we took notice of many changes. Both physical and mental changes within us about what exactly it is that we do in life, and also in the environment around us. The first appearance of life was that of the most unexpected. A flower of the purest hue of crimson found its way into our path. The contrast of red on a black backdrop seemed to hypnotize us, but we worked on, taking a break now and then to admire the beauty grown from such a loss. We now hold it as a memento of those that gave their lives defending what they believed in.
Shortly following this were the individual blades of grass. The fires cleared miles and miles of dead brush and prairie lands, in turn setting the process for a new generation of life to grow. It took little time for them to blend together to create a plush carpet, a shroud to bury the destruction in the past. The continuation of the cycle of life had already begun.
Every spring from that year on we set out to visit the graves. As you approach the basin down the mountain paths, you see that the dead have been replaced with marble gravestones. What I had once witnessed as a grim valley of death now sits upon lush green grass and rows upon rows of pearl white tombstones, each adorned with a golden Imperial Aquilla. From space, when the sun hits it just right, it appears as the crown of the world. It is a beacon to the rest of Humanity of the destruction that war brings, and a reminder to those like us that millions sacrifice their lives so that we can live our lives in peace.
I wander aimlessly down the rows, paying my respects by praying to the God Emperor. I’m older now, and I understand the power of war. By serving in the Guard for fifteen years, I feel that I have come just that much closer to repaying the debt that we owe to the men and women that have served before us, though it will never be reached so long as there is war.
In all the years that I have been alive now, I have never come across such devastation as I had witnessed those many years before. And I thank Him for that, every moment of my life.
They came to our village in search of help. Father said that I wouldn’t be going, only the older, more fit peoples in our town. My big brother Lionel will be going, he’s fourteen. I begged my father, told him I can help, and that I’m not a little child, but he said I was too young and that he didn’t want me to see what was happening.
Many were already gathered in the town plaza, and soldiers called for all able bodied men and women. I protested, I really wanted to help!
“I’m eleven now! Please, I can help!”
He hung his head low and sighed, he didn’t look up to arguing anymore. “Son, I will let you come, but only on one condition.”
“Yes, I’ll do anything!” I said quickly.
“Promise me now that whatever you see, whatever you witness, you will be a big boy for me. You are expected to work, and I can’t keep an eye on you.”
I swallowed hard, “What kind of work, daddy?”
“Well, you will see in time. That is if you decide to come. I’m not going to keep you, I think its about time you can start making decisions for yourself.”
“Yes it is!” I said, puffing out my chest.
He let a weak chuckle, and patted me on the head. “Okay, come with me. Now you promised me, so there’s no going back.”
I nodded, and we set out the front door, Lionel and mother behind us. Finally, I will get to see where they have been going these last few days! I felt important, helpful.
At the plaza, most of the town had already gathered. We waited our turn in the queue, and finally we clambered up into the back of a massive flatbed truck along with many other people. Everybody was here! Mr. Jerinston from the bakery, Mrs. Lilthrope, a teacher at the school, and even Mr. Dawson, our town priest!
I was excited now, thinking of all the places we might be going; a picnic perhaps. But nobody seemed to be as happy as me, for no one smiled, or even hinted at one in that case.
“Hello, Mrs. Lilthrope!,” I said, and turned to face her. She looked tired and drawn.
“Oh, what are you doing here, Craigge? You are much too young!” She said with a gasp.
“Father says I can come, because I’m old enough to make my own decisions!” I replied with a wide smile, but she didn’t seem to warm up.
The truck lurched forward, and we were off. It was a loud, screechy machine belching black exhaust from its vents. There were many of the same type of trucks ahead of us, as well as behind, and I could see the heads of people bobbing as they hit potholes and bumps.
I sat back on the wooden bench, feeling the warm spring sun across my body. We made our way down the mountainside, and I noticed the first of the spring wildflowers were blooming. It was going to be a great day, I thought to myself; out to the meadows the pick flowers and berries that we had normally done on such occasions...I closed my eyes, and let the sun and spring breeze take me.
I dozed off from time to time, occasional peeking out to see what was happening. Without warning, the truck gave a loud moan as the brakes struggled to slow us, and came to a stop. A second later a guardsman with a cigarette dangling between his lips came around to the back. He nodded at me, and I returned it with a small wave. He fiddled with the latches, and hoisted the metal bracket away. Something seemed to be telling me that things were going to be different than what I had thought.
I jumped down from the back with the rest of the people aboard. It was odd, the ground was blackened, and the small scrub trees that were normally blossoming with pink, velvety flowers were no more than dead and charred scrubs. Looking out farther I could see that it went on for miles. Anything and everything in the valley between the two mountain ranges was blackened and desolate. A wind came over us, bringing a warm stench and a mournful, lonely howl. The sun was even blocked by the gathering clouds now, as if to add to the effect of it. I felt cold and separated, as if this blackened landscape was siphoning off my soul.
“I told you it wouldn’t be pretty,” my father whispered to me, standing at my side.
“Is this from the war?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
I knew about the war, and that it was still being fought, just not here anymore.
Tears were filling my eyes. Off in the distance was another work gang, the people milling around, well that’s what it looked at this distance. A few soldiers lead us off into the wastes, and I stayed close to my father’s side. It was so bleak out here. A fierce wind kicked up ash and dust that stung me hard on the face and bare skin. At either side human bodies and remains lined the worn path; I shut my eyes and turned away. Father’s arms wrapped around my shoulder, but nothing seemed to help.
“We’ll start here. You know what to do,” said a soldier in the front after a few minutes of hiking.
I looked around to see the towns people spreading out in no particular direction. An older woman bent down and grabbed a charred body by the wrists. A chill ran down me as I watched her struggle to drag the body, but she managed, and dropped it into a nearby trench work. It hit with a hollow, unmistakable thud.
“Here lad, take this. Just fill in the dirt,” said a man as he handed me a shovel. Father said to follow orders.
I walked over to the trench, careful not to trip on anything. A girl, just a few years older than me, was already shoveling dirt onto the bodies in the hole. She looked up, her face streaked with soot and ash, and forced a weak smile. I hammered the blade into the blackened earth with all my might, and worked it around a bit to get a good load, then turned to empty it. Slowly, it filled, the bodies disappearing a little at a time with each scoop.
Mr. Dawson came over with yet another body. He was old, and battled to get the bulky corpse into the trench.
“How do you do it?” I asked him, tears beginning to flow down my face. He looked at me, and smiled. How could anyone muster a smile in this place?
“I live this life until this life won’t let me live here anymore, then I will walk with patience through that open door. I have no fears, Angels follow me wherever I may go.”
His voice may have been feeble, but it was all I needed to hear, even if it didn’t make much sense. After a moment I turned back and drove my spade deep into the earth with renewed strength.
We worked day after day, and in any type of weather. The blisters I could get used to, but the lost lives I could not. Each face I saw was that of a different person that had lead a life somewhere, had family somewhere. They may never know that he will never be coming home again, but only to lay here in a god forsaken valley of death and waste.
But as tragic as it may have seemed, life always begins anew. As the days passes we took notice of many changes. Both physical and mental changes within us about what exactly it is that we do in life, and also in the environment around us. The first appearance of life was that of the most unexpected. A flower of the purest hue of crimson found its way into our path. The contrast of red on a black backdrop seemed to hypnotize us, but we worked on, taking a break now and then to admire the beauty grown from such a loss. We now hold it as a memento of those that gave their lives defending what they believed in.
Shortly following this were the individual blades of grass. The fires cleared miles and miles of dead brush and prairie lands, in turn setting the process for a new generation of life to grow. It took little time for them to blend together to create a plush carpet, a shroud to bury the destruction in the past. The continuation of the cycle of life had already begun.
Every spring from that year on we set out to visit the graves. As you approach the basin down the mountain paths, you see that the dead have been replaced with marble gravestones. What I had once witnessed as a grim valley of death now sits upon lush green grass and rows upon rows of pearl white tombstones, each adorned with a golden Imperial Aquilla. From space, when the sun hits it just right, it appears as the crown of the world. It is a beacon to the rest of Humanity of the destruction that war brings, and a reminder to those like us that millions sacrifice their lives so that we can live our lives in peace.
I wander aimlessly down the rows, paying my respects by praying to the God Emperor. I’m older now, and I understand the power of war. By serving in the Guard for fifteen years, I feel that I have come just that much closer to repaying the debt that we owe to the men and women that have served before us, though it will never be reached so long as there is war.
In all the years that I have been alive now, I have never come across such devastation as I had witnessed those many years before. And I thank Him for that, every moment of my life.