One Man


Decline

"I'm just one man, what can I do?" The man was deep in thought, despite his laboured breathing.

"WHAT THE HELL!" he suddenly screamed, as he tore the tender flesh off his knuckles on the nearby steel railing. Spectators on the same sidewalk scurried by, shocked by the sight that unfolded before them.

Many gaze upon the troubled man, yet none stop to ease his pain. They simply keep on walking, dragging the man's last hopes with them.

"Mommy, what is that man doing?"
"Sssh, don't look at him! Come now, just keep walking."

When the screaming subsided, the one man realized that nobody would become wary of his desperate pleas. If only one man would step forth, only one...


Desperation

"You...bloody...cruel...world."
Oh, how differently the one man viewed the world now; it was somewhat ironic. It had only been 3 months ago when he knew true happiness.

~~~~~~~~~
"I-It's a girl! She looks like an angel!" cried the man, as he held the new member of his family. Turning his head to face his beautiful wife, he couldn't be more thankful that they were all together. "I'm the luckiest man alive, you know that?" he had said.
~~~~~~~~~

And the irony of those words had sunk in. He wasn't the luckiest man alive; it was simply a moment of bliss. Bellowing a sick laugh, he slumped down into his own pool of blood, which still flowed freshly from his open wound. At that exact moment, the sirens of an ambulance could be heard; it would only be a few more clicks before the man would be whisked away for treatment and incarceration.


Demolition

"S-Stay back, you bastards!" he cried. Following standard procedure, the medical team did not halt their progression on the one man. There was no choice left for the man.

And in the span of 3 seconds, the trauma team was on the floor. "WE NEED BACKUP! PATIENT IS ARMED AND DANGEROUS!"

Laughing in a sick tone once again, the one man began to step backwards in a trance. Once he had stepped over the obstructive railing, he held his balance and pointed the firearm at his own temple.

"YOU WANT TO HELP ME NOW?! AFTER I rend the flesh off of my skin, AFTER I lose everything, and AFTER I faced rejection from all who gazed at my situation. After...I lost...everything."

That was when the one man reminisced upon his tragedy, his undoing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I'm the luckiest man alive, you know that, honey?" and very weakly, she had replied with a smile. No words needed to be uttered, the one man simply cracked a smile back.

Their bliss however, would be quite short-lived. "Congratulations, Mr. Y...w-what? WHAT? Quickly! Charge the defibrillator!"

As the panic spread across the floor, all that could be heard were the doctors and the beeping from the equipment. Another shout, "Raise the charge to 200! CLEAR!" but the whirring of electrodes could not open her eyes. It was over in mere minutes.

There was nothing left; both the giver of life and her offspring had passed on before they could taste life in its entirety.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the metal obstruction, the one man broke into tears. Suddenly, one bold man had stepped up from the ground to approach the man on the railing.

"Please sir, we just want to hel..."
Then, a squeaking noise. Sneakers scrape across the metal as the man falls backwards over the protective barrier.
As he fell, he could see the bold man's eyes on the bridge above; the sincerity in his eyes...

"Somebody did care...thank God."
The dreary echoing of a lost soul resonated upwards towards the people above as he took his last breath.

Decisions


Inside the metallic gut of an APC, blue light was the only thing that illuminated the tiny compartment. Bent over a screen, both of his hands on either side of it, the Colonel stared intently at it.

On the far bottom there was a dark blue circle. At the top red squares. In the middle, traversing the lines forming a grid, were green triangles. His soldiers moving towards the objective that laid before them.

It had been a tough battle so far. The Colonel had suffered major casualties, but he knew that the enemy had as well. Those red squares, moving like ants across the screen, had decreased in numbers the last few hours. But so had his green triangles. He knew he was in for a last push, a last show of power.

“Colonel, the jets are inbound,” the Corporal who was standing next to him said. His skin was glistened with sweat, much like the Colonel. “Do you want me to designate their strike area?”

The Colonel didn’t answer immediately. He thought over his reply, making sure it was the correct one. “Yes, but make sure they know where our guys are pinned down. I don’t want any casualties on our side.”

“Understood,” the Corporal said and turned back to his console to relay the order.

The Colonel returned his attention back to the screen. The situation was becoming dire. His soldiers were now pinned down in several locations and his tanks were stuck further back than he liked. If he couldn’t break the stalemate with the incoming airstrike, he wouldn’t be able to claim the objective. His forces would be annihilated and the battle would be lost.

His knuckles were white from grasping the edges of the screen. He was frustrated with himself, with the decisions he had made in the past. If only he had done that instead of this. If he had taken another decision at that crossroad. If he had, if, if...

It was always the if, the hindsight, that plagued him. It was a weakness he had refused to acknowledge throughout his career, but now it stood there. Laughing in his face with the disappointed faces of his soldiers staring at him.

He shook his head and concentrated. The battle wasn’t lost yet. The jets were coming. The last card he to play. If he broke from pressure now, they would lose for certain. He decided to remain strong, to pull the last ounce of strength he had.

“Sir!” The Corporal’s voice was stricken with panic. “We have a problem. Some of our guys are too far up. If the jets strike now, they’ll hit them too!”

“What?” The Colonel stared at the screen, trying to locate the squad. He found them to the northeast, closer to the enemy than any other squad. He recognized their insignia. They were brilliant soldiers. He hadn’t anticipated them to push that far on their own. “What the hell are those guys doing? Tell them to fall back!”

“Sir, we already told them. They are pinned down by heavy enemy fire. They are stuck.”

At that moment, the Colonel permitted himself to let go of the screen. He stared at it for a few seconds before eyeing the hatch. “Corporal, how far out are the jets?”

“Two minutes, sir. How so?”

The Colonel didn’t respond. He walked over to the hatch and opened it. Bright light blinded him and the noise of war could be heard in the distance. The Corporal didn’t call out to him. The Colonel put his boot down on solid ground.

From the small elevated hill where the APC stood, the Colonel could take a real look at the battlefield. He could see his men pinned down. He could see his tanks stuck too far back to be of any help. He could also faintly make out the location where the squad was stuck. It was too far away for him to see the men, but he could imagine them fighting. Bullets flying all around them, lifeless bodies falling to the ground. They probably wondered what he would do, as they were aware of the impending airstrike.

“What would you have done?” he whispered into the wind. The gears in his head turned and turned. Different combat situations exchanged each other, as the Colonel tried to find an alternate solution.

But there was only a conflict of interest. The interest of life and the interest of war.

“Sir, thirty seconds,” the Corporal said behind the Colonel’s back. “What are your orders?”

The Colonel scoured the horizon, eyeing the plumes of black smoke that rose high into the sky. He could now hear the jets, coming from far away. The birds of war. He imagined the firepower they carried. Firepower that was at his disposal.

He had a choice to make. If he didn’t decide, the battle was lost. If he made the wrong choice, his men would die. But no matter how much he thought he couldn’t see a right choice.

So he decided.

“Corporal, tell them... Tell them to go ahead with the airstrike.”

He didn’t turn around to face the Corporal, but he knew the boy’s emotion from the reply that the Colonel got. He couldn’t blame him. But the Corporal hadn’t made the decision. He wasn’t the one that would have to inform the next of kin.

The jets came from the east. As white lightning they shot across the sky so fast that the Colonel had trouble following them with his eyes. They only left a thunderous rumble that signalled their departure and existence.

As the bombs fell, eradicating the enemy and the squad that held his own men, the Colonel saluted in silence.

Carry the Dying King

The noble king gasped, eyes narrow, but face dignified—the just king is slain.
He fell to the world.
He expected his spirit to be carried on.

The old warrior-king had felt his foe's spear pierce through his armor, but paid it no mind. The blow brought him to the ground, but the honored man was prepared to die. After all, he was dying for his country and his people, dying as the great and benevolent ruler! His retinue of men-at-arms swooped down on the enemy, fighting for the body of the king they thought dead. They overwhelmed the man who struck down their ruler. The king smiled behind his helm. This devotion—absolute proof of the good king!

A shriek sounded high above the plain. A raven looked down on the king with a bold stare. The king’s eyes grew wide; he felt something else piercing him now, but it was far beyond the physical. Some ethereal sense lanced itself deep into his chest and overwhelmed the king with disquiet. The king caught sight of his killer then, gutted and dying as he was. The man’s helm had been knocked off in the melee and the lordly king saw the man’s mutilated face. Vapid eyes stared into nothing and his gaping mouth was filling with blood. He drowned in it. Terror seized the king’s throat.

Hands took hold of him now, his knights, and they would carry him. But they would not take him away from here—from this newfound horror—as he had hoped. The raven shrieked again, its accusations following the king. It rose above the clamor of men fighting and killing, weeping and dying. He tried to refuse what he saw as he was dragged along. Some soldier, merely a boy, gave an unearthly scream as he bled out from his wounds. Another tried to, but instead it only bubbled the blood pooling in his throat from the cut there. A third was only silently weeping as he lay impaled by an arrow. They were without distinction; the blood covered both his crest and his enemy’s just the same. The lamentations were endless, but, in spite of all who were here, they were private lamentations. The suffering of any one did not matter when they all suffered. Their only observers were the king and the raven.

But no! the king told himself. The people still loved him, the knights were still loyal. He clutched his personal truth and held himself over it. He felt himself pushed against a tree by his knights. He wished for anything, any more to prove his truth. He wished for words of mourning. But they talked only of the prestige and courtly honors they would gain for retrieving the body of the king, the lands they would take from their newly conquered foe after the battle. They left, satisfied with the death of the king.

Then the world around him grew louder. But it was not the sound of battle. The raven called, and the bodies surrounding the tree—there are so many bodies, why are there so many bodies? the king asked—seemed to respond in kind. The king heard a din, both somber and angry, rise around him. It grew. It drowned out everything. The one voice of the dead mass arose and attacked him, rejecting him, sentencing him to die as they had. The king tried to cover his ears, but his body had long given up to death. The raven perched above the tree, cawing and cawing, and the king knew that it was the composer of this elegy. The din rose still, still! and swallowed the king’s personal truth. And they told him. He had never been a people’s man, only a confidence man, peddling some petty nobles’ war as theirs. He had merely conned himself.

The bodies condemned him.
Warmonger! they called him.
Tyrant! they charged him..
Murderer! they convicted him.

A horseman—carrying the king’s own crest!—rode by and knocked the king’s body askew. His face landed in mud. The king, but now only a broken, craven man, began to heave. He choked on the mud and his own spittle. He lied mangled, as the world around him lied mangled. The dignified king existed no more. The raven gave its malevolent cry one final time, but this time it was halting, sputtering, staccato. And still again it came above that damned din! The craven man heard laughter.

The sepulchral king begged, groveled, whined—wasn’t I a just king?
The world rebuked him.
The carrion bird did not.

Flickering Light

It's cold. I take a deep breath and exhale with all my might. I can see the air escaping my mouth at full speed; it's like smoke. It only takes seconds until it turns into colourless air again.

I hate the cold. And I hate the dark. I hate days like this.

I get up when the sun has yet to rise and I return when it's already hiding beyond the horizon. The lack of light depresses me. I want to feel the sun on my skin; I miss the warmth filling my body.
The few people on the street look at me funny. Do I look so out of place?
I'm tired, so I trudge forward at a slow pace. Maybe I should take a bath once I get home? But it always takes so long. I always prefer to shower in the end.
I clench my hands into fists – harder and harder. Until the knuckles turn white. I let go and stretch them out and then clench them again. I really should have brought gloves today.

I finally arrive at the bridge. Just a little more and I'm home. Maybe I should have some tea once I get home; or maybe a coffee would be better? One of the street lights flickers. I stop in front of it and watch it for a bit, wondering if the smoke ascending from my mouth reaches the light bulb up there; even when invisible. It reminds me of my youth, when I roamed the neighbourhood with my classmates. We hit the street lamps until they went off. My lips want to curl into a grin, but they give up half way. I rise my foot and kick the flickering street lamp with all my might. The scream I let out echoes through the nothingness surrounding the bridge.

The light bulb stops flickering. And I stand in the dark.

I somehow feel like I should scold myself. I slowly turn around and want to continue my way. But then I spot him-

A man.

He's standing on the railing of the bridge on the other side. His back is facing me.
It suddenly hits me: he's looking down into the river. He wants to jump.

I stand there in the sole dark spot on the bridge that I created with my attack on the streetlight; I'm petrified. A whole torrent of words whirl up inside of me, but none make it out of my mouth.
Only the smoke continues to leave me.

The man suddenly lifts his head up to the sky and raises his arms as if they were wings.

No.

No.

I can't just watch.

I have to-

Someone-

“NO!”

The word finally bursts out my mouth as I run over to his side. I grab the fabric of his coat before giving it a thought.

“Don't do it!”

The man slowly turns his head to look at me. My stomach clenches as I realize that he's about the same age as me. He only raises an eyebrow at me.

“Let go.”

His voice is a lot lower than I would have expected. He is looking at the river again.

“But-”

I stop, but he hasn't interrupted me. I just don't know what to say. 'I understand how you feel'? No, he would just laugh at me.

“Let go. I don't want to jump if that's what you think.”

He faces me again, smiling broadly. I let go slowly; surprised by the gesture.

The man grins and waves and attempts to jump- I scream so loud and high pitched my ears ring. But he didn't jump; he had stopped right before taking off. He looks at me wide eyed, before he starts to break into laughter. He slowly sinks down to the railing and sits down.
But he doesn't stop laughing. He even holds his belly as if he had no care in the world and being shocked by someone wanting to jump off the bridge was the most absurd thing in the world.

I want to shove him down now.

“YOU!” My silence finally ends. I can feel that my face has heated up. “What do you think you're doing?!”

My screaming makes him stop finally. He looks at me surprised.

“I was just standing here, you're the one who approached me.”

“Because I thought you were going to jump, you idiot!” I huff.

“Oh really? So you came to save me then?” He locks eyes with me. I want to slap him to wipe the smug grin off his face.

“So what?! It's what you do when you see someone attempting suicide!”

“Hmm, is that so?” He hums; his eyes aren't leaving me.

I look down at my feet. I did the right thing, so why is he making fun of me?

“Do you want a pat on the back for being so heroic?” He mocks me.

“Do whatever you want, you lunatic!” I turn to leave.

But he isn't done with me yet: “Wasn't very heroic to be honest. If I had really wanted to kill myself you'd been way too late.”

I jerk to a halt and glance over my shoulder. He's standing again, facing the dark water of the river.

“Way too slow. Once you noticed me you froze up.”

I want to ignore him. To just go home. But I stand still.

“What were you afraid of?” He asks. I hear him chuckle.

“It's normal to be shocked when seeing something like that.”

“Always the same excuse.” The man shakes his head.

I can't help but turn around. I open my mouth, but stay silent.

“What I'm doing here?” He grins at me from over his shoulder. “Just wondering.”

“About what?” I nearly shout, because I don't want to step any closer.

“If you'd die from such a height. If it'd hurt.”

He has smoke coming out of his mouth, too.

“So you want to die?”

“Sometimes.” He kneels down and starts to drum on the stone railing. There's barely any sound. “At least I wonder about it from time to time.”

“... you should go to a therapist.” I mutter and start to walk away. I’ve had enough.

THUD. He jumped down the railing – onto the bridge.
My kneels feel weak suddenly. I'm afraid; please don't be dangerous, Mr. Lunatic! I start to walk faster but he catches up to me immediately.

“I don't need therapy.”

I just want to walk past him, but he doesn't let me.

“It'd be weird to never wonder, don't you think?”

“I never thought about it before!” I shout and look around, but the only person I spot makes sure not to look this way.

“You're lying.” He grins at me again.

Just when I start to think about how I could defend myself, he suddenly walks past me and goes the other way. He stops in front of the turned off street lamp.

“My thirst for life is greater than yours.” He says and kicks the pole with such force the metal starts ringing. The street light flickers two times – then it stays on, illuminating the darkness around the weird man.

He leaves without saying another word. Leaving me in the shine of the street lamps, feeling petrified yet again.