An excerpt from my original story. This lit. is copyrighted and those who take will be tracked and accordingly punished by the internet shark.
They stormed the town, decorated cloaks whisking through the thick and filthy air as they slashed at every villager unfortunate enough to be in their path. Children screamed, gripping onto their mother’s skirts for dear life as men held their families, struggling to pull them safely into the nearest doors. But to no avail. The families were pulled from the buildings, massacred, and then unceremoniously thrown to the curbs, their blood pooling and forming red creeks on the bone-dry road.
A gathering of keening women was swiftly silenced near the southeast buildings as the soldiers advanced. The sounds of doors bowing beneath feet, of dressers being thrown aside, and of metal meeting bodies resounded through every opening. Otherwise, all was silent.
As the captain waited, without expression, at the end of the road, his head held high and his hands gripped gently in front of his waist, agonized shrieks continued. Eventually, the space between the pained screams grew longer, until the sounds were no more.
A few hours more, without sound, the search continued, and the captain remained fixed to the spot. Any meaningful sounds became less frequent, other than the steps of soldiers. The rest of those hiding were quietly slaughtered, perhaps surprised by the ruthless men storming every corner and crevice of the village. They were thorough, no one could be left to claim witness, and no evidence could be left behind. The villagers could not know that those above them had decided to wipe away their existence.
The dust was seemingly thicker, and the sun just beginning to set. It had taken longer than expected to destroy the village; the people were adept at hiding in the upper levels and in the wine cellars, behind crates in basements, and had even found hollow spots below the floors to crawl into. But his men, without hesitation, found them all, and proceeded to snuff the lives out of every last individual. The captain was proud.
The men, one by one, and cluster by cluster, began to gather in front of him in formation. One last scream echoed throughout the village, it belonged to a woman. More searching followed, and then all the men stood in front of the captain, awaiting further orders. The sky was now dark, the merciless heat giving way to a cool breeze. Clouds had gathered in the sky since the massacre saw its end, and minutes later droplets began to patter on the cloaks as the captain took a step forward, addressing his loyal men.
“What you have done today fills me with pride.” Spoke the captain “You did not question, and did not hesitate, and for this I know I have earned your complete loyalty.” He addressed a man to his right, whose shoulders sulked somewhat. “Though some of you may never forget this day, know that what you have done was not simply a difficult test, but absolutely necessary. I encourage you to display this fortitude in weeks to come, for we still have two more villages and a settlement to wipe from our maps.” This earned the captain a set of surprised gasps, which were quickly evaporated. “There will be absolutely no compromises in this plan, for you have promised me your uncompromising loyalty. I must also stress-”
The sound of an infant’s wailing pierced the rainy night, vibrating the plummeting water and causing the bodies of every disciplined man to flinch. The captain lifted his head, staring in the direction of the sound, but saw nothing.
“It seems that we have not yet completed our mission.” said the captain. “Who here left the infant?”
The men, stone-faced, remained quiet. The man with the sulking shoulders, although still as stone, had a sense of guilt written on his brow. The captain noticed, and pointed to him.
“You there. Mr. Schell.”
The man looked up. “Captain?”
“Bring me the infant.”
There was a second of silence, a split moment with mouth agape. “Yes, Captain.”
The other men watched solemnly as Schell broke from formation and rushed towards the chilling sound. The infant’s cries were not of hunger, or discomfort, but of agonizing emptiness. There was no color in the scream, no enthusiasm. It was simply a cry, dull and fading between each resounding syllable; but still not quite broken, as if a sense of hope still resided in the noise.
The sound of wood being lifted and thrown to the dust reached the ears of the shifting men. No one dared speak or look to another. It seemed as if the infant’s unbearable screams grew more enthusiastic with the nearby racket, as if begging the source of the noise to come and hold it.
Then the crying grew slower, calmer, and the footsteps of Schell again approached, although now at a walking pace.
Every man turned to watch as the infant, wrapped in a red cloth, was carried slowly to the hands of the captain and transferred to his burly arms. The infant complained slightly, fists clenched, but then relaxed again, its forehead disappearing into the bundle once more.
“You found the infant quickly, Mr. Schell.”
The soldier nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“And guilt is written all over you.”
A moment of hesitation. “Yes, Sir.”
The captain placed his stony face at level with the soldier’s. “Do you know what I am implying?”
“That I left the infant, Sir.”
“And did you?”
“…yes.”
The troops, at this, began to murmur, but the captain ignored this, holding the infant tightly to his striped chest. The infant wriggled in his arms, maneuvering its face to peek out from its warm bundle.
The captain continued. “And are you aware what the consequences of disobeying orders could be?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then you will not protest when I offer you a generous hand, will you?”
Schell locked eyes with the captain, wide with surprise, and heavy with caution. “Of course not, Sir.”
The captain stepped closer to Schell, his breath warm against his sweating face. “I will strike a deal with you.” One hand lifted, gesturing to the infant in his arms. “If you kill the baby, you may live. If you leave the baby, you will die by my hand. Understood?”
Schell, already trembling in the uniform, could not suppress the gasp that escaped him. The other men began to breathe heavy, as if bracing themselves for the oncoming scene. Schell did not answer, but fixed his eyes upon the infant in the captain’s arms.
The captain, assuming, removed the infant from its bundle, which earned him wails of protest, spread the cloth over the ground, and laid the naked infant upon it. She was a girl, crying with her eyes open, groping for a warm surface. Vulnerable and belly up, her crie began to rise in volume. Water soaked the shivering infant, leaving her hair pressed against her forehead as moments passed, a gun now in Schell’s hand as tears began to fall down his face.
The troops, cloaks dripping, were now completely out of formation, leaning over to stare at the baby about to be blown to bits.
The captain moved aside. “Now, Schell.”
Schell approached the infant, pointing the muzzle directly to the infant’s head. The baby’s tiny fists pushed at the gun, struggling to remove the cold object from her face.
Schell placed his finger on the trigger, lifted the gun, and shot himself in the head.
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