All around him, the battle rages. The sound of explosions surround him, ringing in his ears. He has great difficulty sorting out the chaos; the battle is distorting his perception. Suddenly, the air is split by a blood-curdling scream. He turns just in time to watch in horror as his precious Rosalie falls to the ground. He struggles to reach his beloved, to rescue her, though deep inside he knows he is too late. There is suddenly a very acute pain in his abdomen, but he must ignore it, must reach rosalie. He falls painfully to his knees and cries out in anguish as his vision begins to cloud. Before his world goes black, Isaac has one final thought. This isn't a war, it's a slaughter.
Isaac awakes, screaming from his nightmare. His bedsheets restrain him, trap him. He struggles to disentangle himself, finally succeeding in his escape from his wretched, empty bed. His heart beating rampantly, his breathing ragged, and his mind panicked, Isaac brings his knees up to his chin and wraps his arms around them. He closes his eyes in an attempt to block out the images which flood his min. His efforts are wasted and the images are only more vivid. His memories are torturing him, explosions echoing within his mind. Isaac rests his head on his knees and sobs, heart-rendering, gut-wrenching sobs.
It's been almost six months since that miserable battle. Isaac laughs humorlessly to himself. Some battle. It was more or less an exterminations, unjust punishment for a just crime. Hundreds of troops stormed the hidden underground city, killing, no, destroying every person they came in contact with, including women and children. Isaac's sobs intensified as he unwillingly recalled the massacre discovered at the education facility. Innocent children punished for the so-called sins of their parents.
Thousands of people had died, because they had refuted the rule of their almighty dictator. Isaac willed himself not to think of her, not to think of his beloved. Yet, the more he struggled not to think of Rosalie, the more insistent she became upon his memory, forcing him to remember her. The tears sprung anew.
Eventually, as the dawn began to light the Eastern skies, Isaac picked himself up off the floor and forced himself to begin his daily routine. He stared at himself, long and hard, in the mirror as he ran the shower. The heated shower steam fogging the mirror. It wasn't his fault, Isaac knows that. Yet, sometimes he can't help, but wonder what would have happened if they had left her alone. What if they hadn't kidnapped her in an attempt to make her father suffer? Would she still be alive? What if they had never fallen in love?
As he steps into the hot stream of water, Isaac sights. The steaming water washes over him, as if to cleanse away the pain. He remembers the day of her memorial, the rain had fallen hard and fast, as if the sky also mourned her loss. It was as if Mother Nature herself was attempting to punish the Earth for the atrocious crime that had been committed by pouring buckets of steaming acid upon it, scalding her surface. Scarring her appearance in much the same way that its history had been. The world was forever blemished.
Isaac recalled one senile woman in particular attempting to comfort him. "Remember, Dearie, her death wasn't in vain. The Good Lord has a plan." Isaac had nodded in agreement at the time, knowing it was the truth. Rosalie's death was the reason the elderly woman was now allowed to say such things as "the Good Lord." Rosalie's death had ended the war, as well as the dictator. The gruff man was unable to cope with the knowledge that he had been responsible for the death of his only daughter.
Isaac finished his routine and stepped out into the bright daylight. A breeze blew softly by and Isaac was sure he heard the light tinkling of Rosalie's laughter. He smiled slightly to himself. The world had been blemished along with his memory. Though his memory was beautifully blemished. Isaac was thankful that Rosalie had at least left him forever blemished.

- Hannah Jo 2008

Labels: blemished, death, fiction, forever, Isaac, love, Rosalie, story, war