The Truth
The lot was quite spacious, even by yesterday's standards before overcrowding and urbanization had set in. A convertible, once red and engine long dead and sold, fenders rusted, occupied an overgrown north-most corner. Further to the side stood a rickety shed, well on its last strength. A pond, merging into a lake further north, somewhere beyond the property line, flanked the grassy back. The front was a dusty mess: a rusty patio table, two similar chairs, and a house, not much larger than the shed. All stood at odd angles and with no apparent logic to their placement with the exception of the furniture remaining in a cluster and the house solitary. The sideboards of the house were pale blue and had weathered the years well and it had been many long years since this particular home, this property, have been of use as a dwelling to more than vermin and the passing backpacker. Its roof had wistood more winters than expected and still stood strong against the elements. Out front lay an ill-traveled highway, only traversed by the occasional adrenaline junkie or tourist.
It was in this peaceful setting that two men, young and virile, sat behind the patio table, a jug of instant lemonade and too many memories between them.
"Doesn't that bother you?" asked Zell, examining the bullet holes in the table rim before him. They were never enemies per say, although he was no stranger to feelings of resentment and hostility towards his ex-colleague.
"No, not really."
"What if they hit you?"
"They wouldn't."
"You're so sure."
"I am. I'm always sure," Seifer, ex-Sorceress' Knight, the man who single-handedly first won then lost the latest war, reclined in his lawn chair.
"If you say so. They probably think you'd kill them or something."
"I could."
"They don't understand it was that witch pulling the strings."
"No one made me do anything I didn't want to."
"Yeah, right."
"Grow up, Chicken." Seifer flashed a telling smile and in that moment Zell could see the truth in those few incriminating statements. He was unsure whether he was expected to believe them or not, only that he now did, and wished he did not. His breath caught in his throat as Seifer, in spirit of revelation, toasted him with his empty glass.
Zell had sat through the post-war trials. He had sat through the victim statements and casualty lists so long only a few words could be said about each person. He had sat as charge after charge was read, the death penalty proposed and subsequently taken off the table by a judge who's leniency was as unpopular as the war itself. As prison lists were examined, the facilities found inequitable to house a criminal of this caliber, and options reexamined as the defense presented an array of torture charges while pending trial. And now, looking into the eyes of not a manipulated youth who craved the taste of power but of a calculating man who willingly picked up his blade and stepped into the abattoir, he struggled to come to terms with the truth.
"So, she never had you under control." It was more of a statement than a question, really.
"Maybe for moments. She thought she did. Even hypnotism leaves room for conscious thought, eh?"
"Oh fuck .."
"I killed mercenaries. Children or not, some adults too. Today's snot-nosed shit is tomorrow's soldier. .. She was planning something great, you know," Seifer paused, sadly adding, "But it doesn't matter now, does it?"
"I don't know."
"I do."