Dystopian Dilemma

It wasn't the inferno burning around me, consuming homes and humans alike, that snapped me back to reality. It wasn't the crack of the gunshots that slashed through the paper of silence that brought me back. It wasn't the screams of my brothers and sisters in arms or the terror boiling up like bile in my throat. It was a single, guttural, horrific moan. The kind that you would hear from a dying animal who had given up. The kind that sneaks into the cracks of the armor and takes you apart from the inside. It tugged on my heart, pulling my being towards itself, dragging my eyes across carnage and pain to the face of a small girl.

Her eyes were raw and red, and her skin was a tapestry of ash and blood and fear. Her clothes were tattered and pressed to her skin. One hand gripped a stuffed animal, but only some of it remained. Most of the stuffing had poured out, and only some of the fabric had stayed, but she held on with every last bit of strength she had left.

She hurt to look at, but when I saw her face, my heart shattered, splitting across the floor around me. Humanity flooded my being as my legs lifted, pushing myself higher up. Then her eyes met mine, locked in, pushed past my exterior, and locked on to my soul. I melted down, fell to the floor, and hid. I curled up and wished so drastically for the world around me to simply melt away, but it didn't. The only thing that left was the roars around me, which were instead replaced by a familiar moan- a guttural escaping of sorrow from the soul of the small girl, a mighty bellow that ripped through the air. It took over my body, pushing me forward. I bolted across the field. My bones felt as brittle as an old oak, and my stomach was filled with a ravenous fear clinging to my body like glue. Tears fell from my eyes, burning my skin, fragile to the touch. Pain echoed like a familiar motif throughout my body.

For what felt like hours, days, I pushed forward, tearing through air and smog and pain towards the girl. If I could only save one person today, I would, and it would be worth it.

When finally my arms surrounded the girl, it felt like water smothering someone pushed into a pool. It felt so perfect and final, like years of fighting finally culminated at this moment. I pulled her close to my face, repeating over and over again, "You are ok, I will save you." Her skin felt like paper, and veins were visible underneath. She looked hurt and starved. Sorrow was written across her face as clear as though it was written in marker. I grabbed her hand and pulled her with all my might. I was going to save this girl. If it was the last thing I would do, I was going to save this girl. That was until a horrible thing came from her mouth. A language I had been taught over and over again to hate. She was Sha’li. She was with them, not me. She deserved to die, didn’t she?

But looking into her eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to leave her there. She wasn’t like the others, right? She was too young to have sinned like they had. Everything I had ever been taught told me to leave this girl, but I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing her arm and running her to safety.

She didn't run with me, however. She fell to the ground--no, that doesn't do it justice. She crumpled down like a doll cast aside by a toddler. She lay there, eyes piercing into my soul and body aching for salvation. It is only when life sneaks towards its end one realizes how important and fragile it is. She looked up at me with eyes that were pouring with water, dripping out of her like a fountain. She reached up to her neck, grabbing a locket. It was the shape of a heart but rusted and worn. It seemed to have once been gold, but now it was a worn down and rusted bronze. As she fumbled with it, it grew dark red, almost black. Looking at her hands, I saw why. Both were coated in a sticky red liquid, pouring down her body landing on a pool in her stomach. When I looked back up to her face, I saw the story spelled across her; blood dripped out of her mouth, wetted her clothes, and stained her skin. Looking down, a deep red pool lay on her stomach, spilling out of her. It didn't seem to register to her that she might be in pain; she just had to pull off the locket. I reached over and helped her. My fingers danced along her neck and unclasped it, handing it to her. A small smile filled her face, small but thankful.

The words she spoke next barely escaped her lips; they were raspy and echoed like they were the only things being said in the world. I couldn’t understand her, but I knew she kept repeating the same mantra. She kept going on, begging me in a language I couldn't understand. Pleading me to do something with the heart locket, but I never would know what it was.

Tears filled my eyes as the yolk of realization hit me; I couldn't help her. I was so determined, so intent on saving her, but I couldn't. I gave up everything, possibly my life, and all in vain. She wouldn't make it to the end of my story, but I would never forget what page she was on.

I don't remember when she died, but I remember feeling like it took an eternity for her soul to finally leave her body. When I embraced her for the last time, I remember thinking how cold such a warm embrace felt. Somewhere between first hearing her and seeing her eyes close, a connection formed- an unshakeable one that would be there for the rest of my life. Her sobs would still always be stuck with me, echoing in my heart and mind. I heard too many last words throughout that war, but my greatest regret was that I would never know hers, never know what she so desperately wanted me to know.