A/N: This was....i don't know....a random story idea. It has a weird idea to it...kinda WW2ish but not....enjoy

Spark

It rained heavy on that night. It was cold and dark. It was almost like the dramatic climax to an off fairy tale. The lightning streaked across the sky once or twice, just enough to illuminate the malicious clouds above and the decadence below.

I trekked slowly along, staring into the darkness, seeing people around me wander around in delirium. This was a dark place, full of people who had lost that light; people who were no longer worthy to be packed in with normal society; a ghetto of workers who trudged on, their workdays hardly ending in time for them to start again.

Momentarily, when watching, I saw a spark of unknown life, of beauty throughout. These people trudged on with no destination. Their faces were obscured mostly, emotionless. When they were stripped of their humanity, branded and herded like cattle, it's hard not to be so stoic.

But there was light.

I stopped just before a well where a boy did. He looked like a boy; short and skinny, his eyes bright wide where they were somewhat sunk in. He was not a boy though. His face may have been boyish, but bared the grunt of a man.

"What are you in a rush for?" I asked him. I stopped in front of the well, my hand laying on one of the wobbly bricks. Crumbs of old mortar tumbled into the murky water below, ringlets splashing up on the sides. A flash of lightning truly showed the boy's gaunt face. His hair was red, ragged on top of his head, tied at the nape of his neck with what use to be a fine ribbon.

"Nothing," he had sincerity in his voice. Calmness. If you spoke to anyone else their voices would grate along, like chains clinking against the cobblestone road. They told you nothing that was important to you, no matter how many times you asked them. They were disillusioned, tired and forgotten. Their memories that they spouted were all they had, and the more they repeated them made it a better chance that they would still remember them in the following week.

"Nothing huh?"

His hands were cupped together, held at his chest tightly. Another flash of lightning streaked through the sky. I could see a cross shaped mark on his cheek, reddened as if it were fresh with blood.

"Whaddya got with ya?" I asked, my hand touching his. He didn't push me away or scream, only flinched the slightest bit. Touching one another, especially in sincerity or passion was no longer seen or used. The bodies of those that toiled away here moved past the point of caring what their desires were. Men no longer felt like masturbating, and women were tired of trying to get men to decide they wanted to do anything. Occasionally a fresh woman would come along and decide that she was going to change everything. It was always one woman that corralled the others to try and bullying the men into being active, but it never worked. Usually the leader who had gotten their hopes up would be bludgeoned to death with whatever objects that could be found. It was pretty messy.

"What are you doing?" he asked. He didn't look up at me, or care who I was. It was obvious that I wasn't his friend.

I was The Uniform. I was dressed in green that was bleeding to dingy brown in the rain. I was clean shaven, fresh faced and in shape. My stomach was full, my eyes were bright and my muscles were strong.

"I just wondered what you had," I said. He opened his hands carefully. Inside the cup of white skin I saw something. It was rusted, with dirt covering most of it, but it was obvious. It was a coin; a gold coin. Even to The Uniforms it was highly valued.

"Where'd you get that?"

"I found it," he said, closing his hands again, pressing them against his chest.

"What do you plan to do with it?"

He swallowed heavily and looked into the water below. Lightning flashed one more time. I saw something strange. I saw a weapon at his side, a sword in a nice lacquer sheath shining in the light. There was a sword sheathed inside it, held by an old rusted chain to keep it closed.

"Make a wish."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "A wish? You'd waste a gold coin on that?" I asked. He didn't respond, only opened his hands and placed them over the well. There were people stopping and looking at us, especially the man. There were whispers travelling around, people mumbling to him what he should wish for.

"It's not a waste, that it is not," he said softly. Just before he let go I grabbed his arms, pushing him into the dirt. No one got in a riot; no one seemed to even mind what I did. I had the authority to do it, and I knew that. Yet I was uncomfortable. I looked down at his emaciated figure and wondered why he didn't lash out at me, why he didn't break the chain on his sword and kill me right there. "Why'd you do that?"

"You have enough money right there to feed everyone here, to play God," I said. "Why won't you do it?"

"Because it wouldn't matter."

I shook my head. "What do you mean it wouldn't matter? Feeding the hungry bellies of all your…friends?" I swung my arm around to the people that had gathered, watching. "Wouldn't that mean more to you then sending that coin to the bottom of the well?"

"Why would I want to play God Officer Sagara?" he asked. It sounded strange, my name falling from his lips like that. "Why would I want to get their hopes up and then make them feel worse than they already are?"

"Because it would make you a decent person."

"I am a decent person. You're the hypocrite," he spat. I was at a loss of words, but I didn't let it get to me. I pursed my lips and nodded.

"You're right," I couldn't deny the truth. I had sworn an oath to an allegiance that would feed and cloth me, keep me warm at night, and suck the humanity right out of my skull; so much so that I watched men and women around me, my own people, emaciate and pass without having a heart to care what kind of people they were, or who they might have become.

"But you're a happy hypocrite," he said, his voice deflated. He was still laying on the wet ground, his elbows propping him up, the coin clenched tight in his hand. "Which is all that really matters."

"What do you mean?"

"These souls around you do not find happiness because they do not wish to betray the people that they were raised to be, and they live miserable lives upholding a dream that someday these walls around them may crumble down. They hold onto a hidden sliver of hope that hypocrites like you, feigning happiness for food and for warmth, will suddenly realize their cause is just. God forbid I take that sliver and replace it with falseness and lies."

"You know so much," I said stoically. "How do you know it's me who's the hypocrite?"

"When you live a life that I have, you learn. You see both sides and decide that they are both just in their reasons. You just have to decide which one had more cause to be right." He lowered his head and picked up the coin, pressing it against his chest. "You are a warrior Officer. You risk your life for your ideals, it's a courage that must be applauded, but people like us, who have been oppressed until all the happiness is squeezed out of us, we can't give you those congratulations."

I flinched. He was a child of war, and a child of famine. He held tight to his pride, but it was locked by those chains around the hilt of his sword.

"What are you going to wish for?" I asked. My voice was diminished down to nothing.

"I don't know," he said. He started wiping away the dirt on the coin, showing the face of whoever the leader was. He put the cold metal to his lips and pondered. He looked up to the sky, his eyes searching along the grey clouds. "There are so many things to wish for. The happiness of those here, the happiness of myself, of the family that was taken from me."

"Are they at another camp?"

He turned to me, the line of his face turning upward. "I wouldn't know," he said. "I was…" he seemed lost. "I don't really remember. I see their faces but…"

"Do you have a picture?"

He never let that coin leave his hand, but he reached into the folds of the rags he wore and produced a small photograph, torn and wetted. I could see it was a family portrait, brilliant and shining. A woman that was his wife sitting next to him in a nice dress, his son, maybe two or three, on her knee. And him, shining like a new penny, in an officer's uniform. I studied the breast of his uniform until I could see his rank clearly: lieutenant-general.

He put his hand out, asking for it back. "It's my most prized possession."

"How bad do you want to see them General?"

He flinched again. "Don't call me that name," he said, without hate or remorse in his voice. "It's a stupid rank. It means nothing."

"It means a lot to me," I said. "How bad do you want to see them?"

"It doesn't matter," he replied, stepping up to the well again. He held his hand over the well, clenched tight, blood running from his palm. "This will all end soon enough, and we'll all be happy, until then, we must be grateful for the little miracles that still exist."

He dropped the coin in the well as he said: "I wish for the rain to stop," which was almost impossible seeing as it was monsoon season. Still, I couldn't stop him. My shoulders flattened, and I let out a tough breath of air. He walked away from me, curling his arms in his clothes, his sword, tied up, clanging at his side. I couldn't follow him. Something in me just made me turn around and start walking toward my barracks, my arms swinging at my side.

As I reached the door, I listened to the sound of my comrades inside singing: "We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas…" I stopped and looked up to the sky, seeing the clouds begin to part. It took me a few moments to see that the rain had stopped. The moon started to beam over the ghetto brightly. I stumbled inside and was corralled by my friends to join them for a drink.

I rose my glass to that red headed lieutenant-general. It was the first time I'd seen a spark of humanity within anyone for a long, long time.