A Future in History: Innocence in Love and at War (Raivh and Lilytania)

[Raivh]

Gunshots and shouts rang out into the night air. It was cold, the wind was blowing, and he was beginning to feel the after effects of yet another day of slaughter. His hands quaked as he stared at the blood that stained them. This time the victim had been a young child, a girl, but it hadn’t been he who had fired the bullet that ended the girl’s life. No, it had been his best friend, and then he had been felled as well, left to rot, a corpse among corpses. Ever tried finding a body once it was doused in gasoline and burned? It’s impossible. All that remains is ash. A few more hours and not even that would be left—blow away with this damned wind. Flinching when a cold drop of moisture hit him square in the eye, he glanced up at the dark sky. The moon was clouded over, explaining why it was particularly dark tonight, particularly gloomy.

Snow had started to fall, the first official sign of winter and a tougher war to be fought against disease, against fever. Already he felt like one was setting in. His body was hot, and despite the frigid temperatures he’d been enduring all night there was a glisten of sweat on his forehead and beaded at his temples. Wrenching the automatic from his back when he saw a flash of movement, he gave a shout and pulled the trigger. A bomb went off somewhere nearby and lit up the sky, one of many explosions that darkened the night while brightening it. He could hear the screams of innocent people not far off, knowing that they were going to die, to face the same fate he had brought to so many. How many had he killed? He’d lost count. Too many to number on his fingers.

Scanning the hillside still ten yards away, he knew what he was going to have to do when he reached that house. There was a woman inside, he’d been informed, a young girl—he’d imagined her to be about his sister’s age—caring for a group of orphans, at least twelve of them. When he reached that shack at the top of that hill—he wiped his mouth that had long since dried out from nerves, and took a deep breath—he would have to kill them all. This war was ludicrous, unnecessary. Why did children have to die? And why did he have to be the one to kill them? Clenching his jaw, he trudged on, over bodies and severed limbs, toward the hill.

It was sometime later that he reached it, the so-called sanctuary for abandoned children, little ones that were to be cared for by the church in the good name of God. If this was some act of the Kingdom, all of this death and destruction and chaos, he wondered how these people—his gaze passed over a couple beheaded nuns and he nearly lost his stomach. He wondered how these people could still have their faith, could still rely on something unseen and unheard.

Wheeling around at the small clatter of a rock or stone or stray bullet, he fixed his eyes on the only door still partially intact in the place. Lord have mercy on his soul! His duty was not his own but that of some madman, and if it wasn’t completed his own life would be at stake. Slamming the bottom of his foot against the door, it flew open. His eyes searched the darkness for something, a shadow or a body, but he saw nothing. Slowly, cautiously, he entered the room. The crucifix was front and center, no doubt some priest had prayed in front of it no more than an hour ago. The blood pooled on the floor was still fresh, though no body remained.

“Sister! I know you’re in here!” Allen bellowed in a quaking voice. “Come out and I assure you this will be quick, painless—for all of you.”

 

[Lilytania]

Ariadne had grown up in the orphanage. The Sisters had raised her on God, teaching her to love Him with all her heart, that she would be rewarded in Heaven if she did. Even if things were bad down here, even if she didn't have her parents anymore, even if they were on the brink of war, she would get a good life in Heaven. If she ever did something wrong, she had to ask God for forgiveness. She had to be kind and loving to everyone. She had to be devoted to God wholeheartedly.

She had grown up, and turned eighteen. At that point, she was supposed to either make a life for herself, or become a Sister in the orphanage. She hadn't been able to see herself anywhere else, and the war was already raging. She committed herself to a life of service at the orphanage, taking care of children just as someone else had taken care of her. She made sure the children stayed happy, healthy, and whole, and took in any abandoned child left on the doorstep. The war carried on, mostly keeping away, though occasionally they would hear distant explosions or gunshots, and a flash of fiery light would illuminate the smoky night sky. Ariadne tried to keep the children away from the windows. They didn't need to see the devastation going on.

Recently, a raid had come through the church. They had killed the priest just an hour before, as well as several of the sisters and a few of the children who hadn't been with Ariadne. Ariadne had kept them hidden in a back room, telling them to cover their ears as the screams of dying souls filled the air.

She had made them stay while she scoped out the place. Everyone was gone, but she could see someone traipsing up the hill. She hid herself in the offset hall leading to the room where the children stayed. She soothed a few of their frightened cries and told them to stay quiet. She could only hope that they wouldn't be killed. That she wouldn't be killed.

She heard the door crash open, and she put a hand over her mouth, realizing she was trembling fearfully. She took in a shaky breath and shut her eyes, silently praying to God to protect the children. He had to still be up there. These children were still alive, weren't they?

The soldier called out to her, and she realized she was the one he wanted. She stayed where she was, frozen in fear, trying to collect herself. She knelt on the ground in her black nun's dress, without her headdress. Her red hair hung down in locks, and her young face was dirtied by the smoke and dust in the air. Emerald eyes glittered in the darkness as the soldier came closer. She stood up and shuffled to press against the corner, listening as he came closer. When he appeared, she whirled and slapped him, surprised at herself when she felt her own hand sting. She dropped to her knees, looking up at him with wide eyes, tears brimming her eyes. "I'm sorry!" she cried. "Please, just don't kill the children. Kill me, but take the children somewhere safe. Don't kill them!"

She looked beautiful kneeling there, her hair a bit disheveled, her eyes shining with her pleads.