Crushed by Fear
Released by Hope.
All the Damage in the World Replacing With Coping,
As the World Turns to Dust,
Here My Plea,
Give The Ruins Something to Believe In,
Give Them Love
“Quil!” the young boy exclaimed, throwing himself down. A bullet whizzed past, hitting another soldier. Beside him, Quil sat in the dust of the war. Fighting for Treban, the land of earth, was terrible business. Giving a smile at Frezald, the young boy, he ran from the trenches and shot four silver bullets. The other warriors fell instantly.
“Wait, wait up!” Frezald cried, stumbling after him, gun up to his underarm. He was much to stagger around, and war had not helped.
Quil laughed as he stumbled, and shot four extra bullets. The other side, the ice, fell in unison. He was an athlete, not a fighter in a war so troublesome as this. The twelve year old had to sign up, for one man in each family had to serve the Treban in the war. The poor boy’s father was far too sick to fight, a long limp in his left leg. I am strong, he had told himself. If my dad can live with such a tyrant as a wife, one that killed herself after my birth, I am sure I can fight this war with bravery. It runs in our veins.
Quil looked up at the sky, at Alia. It glistened forcefully in his eyes. Inside he knew that it shone with gluttony, a dreadful smile pasted on it’s face. For this war, created for their accomplishments, was just a way for them to receive more gold. And their power, how do they control this war? He knew. He knew it from a dream.
Running up beside him panting and sweaty, Frezald sighed. “Why did I have to be chosen?” he asked, a recurring question.
“Cause your brothers are to be wed to duchesses, and therefore are unable to fight. You, on the other hand, are eleven, and unable to wed.” Quil told him.
He sighed, not liking the answer, and sitting down. The alarm called, allowing the fighters to return to their home base. Quil turned to Frezald with a smile, he had passed another day without a bullet through his head. Frezald seemed pretty happy about that, too. The younger boy straightened his back, and walked with pride back to the base.
Hopping over the barbed wire, the two passed through the gate, showing their passes of Treban. No one actually believed that Quil was from the earth, born like most from the people, for he had light pale skin and black hair that covered his eyes. He stood out well in the crowd.
Frezald was a true people, though. His eyes were a sparkling green, like a strong tree. He had tanned skin like bark, and his hair was spiky like a fern, and brown like the sand. The boy did not like to speak of his springing from the earth, for he was far to early. That made him small.
The two stepped into the camp just as the medics arrived from the tent. The two boys stood in the long line, wondering if they needed operated or worked on. Quil was fine, his arms the same size, small bruises like spots all over his body. He had been classified alive. Behind him, Frezald was having difficulties. The younger boy, Quil knew, had received some type of disease in his left arm. The doctors, unaware, passed him on as living.
In the tent, Quil shook his head at Frezald. “You should have told them!” he cried, wanting to strike the boy. How he had grown to care about the young boy, he was extremely important to Treban! Frezald could, and would with enough courage, how the earth moved. Earthquakes were far too great on the battlefield. The only thing was, Treban people would be okay. Was Quil really Treban?
“Oh my gods, Quil! You make me feel like a child!” The younger boy said, rolling his eyes. He set down his weapon, a wooden gun, and plunked himself on his cot. A duke child, he had received more than a sleeping bag. Quil sat down on his ruined bag, and ran his fingers through his hair.
“I just… I just don’t want you to die! This war is useless, and we need as much help as possible!” Quil cried, his eyes large. He felt mad, how stupid could that young Treban be? Spit came from his lips, and his face grew red.
“Oh, okay.” Frezald said, looking down. Many times he had seen the older boy become outraged, most times to make him unleash his power of earthquakes. He had only used it once, when they lied on the field, cradling each other for warmth. They were looking for survivors. They weren’t going to notice them. And then, it unleashed itself. Pure fear, dying without a chance.
They spent the last few hours of daylight sitting, looking at each other’s eyes. Soon Quil decided to retire, and pulled the sleeping bag’s covers over his face. He coughed, dust falling in his mouth, but soon settled into a rhythm of breathing, and closed his eyes. He hoped for her face once more.
When I Rest My Head,
On the Barren Ground,
My Eyes Flutter And Close,
Peace and Love Fighting Blood and Hatred,
Give Them Love,
Give Them Love
