(3 of 3. Originally posted on January 06, 2023 for the prompt “A New Beginning.”)
NOTICE – IF YOU HAVEN’T YET, READ PART 1 HERE AND PART 2 HERE.
Raphael turned his back to the burning homes, and the things his fellow soldiers were doing to the enemy. Enemy? This is not the enemy they described. There are no monsters here. I haven’t seen a single gun among them. These are families.
He focused on his breathing, slow in and out, and consciously relaxed his face muscles. He’d volunteered for this. But once you signed up, they owned you. A soldier who expressed any pity, or offered any mercy, would be shot as a traitor.
A flapping of cloth caught Raphael’s attention. A woman, dressed in flowing night-robes, long black hair streaming in the wind, ran out into the dark of the night. Raphael’s rifle came up to his eye without a thought, his body moving as it had been trained. But his fingers froze. She looked like Larah, his young wife who waited for him back at camp. He squeezed his eyes closed, yet still he saw Larah’s tear-stained face. His eyes popped open again. Run.
The woman crested a ridge, then pitched forward as if struck from behind. She fell out of sight down the other side of the rise.
“You hesitated, soldier! That one almost got away.”
Raphael snapped to attention facing the angry-eyed officer. “I was just making sure of my aim, sir. You got her a moment before I fired.”
“We are not vacationing at your private hunting lodge, soldier! I am not your mother, to hold your hand and clean up after your incompetence! Go make sure that one is dead, then report back to your CO for latrine duty. Move!”
Raphael sprinted up the rise, torn between hoping she’d survived and hoping she hadn’t. He didn’t think he’d be able to kill her, even if it cost him his own life. Her body lay at the bottom of the twenty-foot slope, her twisted robe caked with sand and blood. He scrambled down to her, pelting her with debris.
A thin cry drifted on the air. Something like a desert owl, soft and wavering. Raphael didn’t realize it was coming from under the woman’s body until he reached her. He rolled her onto her back to check for signs of life. No breath moved in her lungs, and her eyes stared into the world beyond. Yet, life stirred in her arms. A soft, angelic face peeked out from a bundle of rags. Tiny fingers reached out and wrapped around his heart.
Raphael crouched between two worlds. Behind him, the sounds of fighting transitioned into sounds of drunken celebration. A world of death and destruction, that commanded his obedience and the end of the sweet soul in front of him. If he walked away, they would kill him. Somewhere ahead, Larah waited for him in the follower’s camp, alone and mourning the recent loss of their infant daughter, whose life had ended before it began.
Raphael looked at the child, then he looked at his rifle. The stars overhead spun toward morning. The sound of celebration died down behind him. He looked at the child, alone and aching for a mother, then he looked up toward the camp where Larah waited, alone and aching for a child.
The instrument of death fell to the ground with a soft thump. Raphael lifted the child in his arms. “Can three broken souls make a new start together?” He held the fragile bundle against his chest, turned his back on the sounds of death, and walked away.