The sound of his feet sloshing in the mud below him only served as a reminder that he was in a fight for his life.
The concept of war never ceased to terrify him; it was basically a chance to shoot anyone at any point in time, ending their life in seconds. In turn, that person is added to the death count and soon after, their family grieves, a funeral is held, and then another soldier is put into battle to take their place: a simple and mechanical process.
But he didn't want to be part of that process. No, he wanted to survive and return home; he wanted to see the joyful tears of his family as they hug him and kiss him and tell him they love him with all of their heart and that he's finally safe. That was his whole motivation. That's what kept this tired and worn out soldier fighting day after day even though he never wanted to. So when he saw a figure emerge from the fog, the soldier didn't even hesitate to raise his gun and aim directly at the stranger.
Upon seeing the face of the newcomer, the man's heart sunk a little. The person in front of him looked no older than twenty and the wide-eyed stare and sunken facial features only added to how empty that man looked; however, the two of them are in the middle of a war and judging by the other's Italian uniform, this meant that they are obligated to battle. Apparently, the Italian thought so too.
The two stood like that for minutes, their respective weapons trained on each other and their stances firm with tension. In that moment, only the soft patter of raindrops could be heard.
The Frenchman silently riffled through the thoughts buzzing in his head. Do I shoot him? Should I dare fire the first shot? This man is so young! I can't end his life when he has so much to live for! But so do I! I have just as much right to live as he does-!
He was suddenly interrupted when the Italian lowered his weapon and slumped his shoulders, releasing a small sigh in the process before lifting his head up to meet the other's gaze with a solemn expression.
"Why do we have to fight like this?"
That question certainly caught his attention. In reply, the Frenchman's eyebrow rose in confusion and he slightly lowered his gun. The Italian must have seen this as an invitation to go on.
"There are already so many people in the world whose lives are terrible enough without the war. People are starving, dying of disease, homeless and now everything is a billion times worse because there are millions of families out there with millions of bambini waiting for their dads to come home, and some of them might not. In war, somebody always has to be in pain, even if they don't deserve it, and I don't want to start that pain; I don't want to see anyone in pain."
The Frenchman was left completely speechless, the only thought going through his mind now was what has this man gone through to think in that kind of way. However, his confusion and shock was only furthered more as he gaped at the hand that was offered to him. The man's gaze slowly trailed up to meet the Italian's eyes once again and noticed that the previous expression was replaced with a sympathetic smile.
"My name is Feliciano and it's nice to meet you."
The other stood there, completely awestruck. A glimmer of kindness? One that he has been searching for this entire time in this hellhole? This had to be a miracle! It took some time but the man smiled in response and gratefully shook the other's hand.
"Jérémie, a pleasure."
For a split second, everything seemed peaceful and normal, like the French soldier was just meeting another man at the workplace, not on a battlefield...
A battlefield.
The grim reminder made itself known and the smile that was once so genuine started to morph into a frown.
We are in the middle of a war.
Steadily, the enthusiasm in their handshake started to fade away.
I'm vulnerable. He can kill me.
The next moment happened so quickly. In a matter of seconds, the Frenchman quickly formed a fist with his free hand and slammed the other across the jaw, promptly knocking the Italian to the ground with a gasp. Sparing no time, Jérémie messily pulled out his gun and cursed when his fingers trembled around the trigger and his heart beated way too fast.
The Italian quickly brought himself to his feet and, once noticing that the Frenchman was ready to attack, made a dash to his right, avoiding a bullet to the head. The man made another effort to shoot and mentally scolded himself as the next bullet missed the other's shoulder by a few centimeters. Another shot and it skids across the Italian's cheek, making a small line of blood trickle down from his face but not enough to seriously harm him. Another shot puts a hole in his pant leg and the Frenchman is getting so frustrated with himself that he's starting to wonder how he made it onto the battlefield in the first place.
Then a large mass jumped in front of his eyes and the next thing he knew, he was brought to the ground with the Italian on top of him. Feliciano straddled the other, each hand firmly keeping the other's hand in place. Jérémie struggled restlessly, kicking wildly at the other and trying to push his hands against his captor's in vain but he was still firmly kept in place. He shouted as a form of intimidation, spewing curses and insults to try to scare off the Italian but the only response he ever got was a look of betrayal. He couldn't die like this, not here, not now.
It must have been a miracle when Jérémie was finally able to use brute strength to slam the other onto his side and quickly scamper off. He was struggling to calm himself down as his hands rushed down the pockets of his uniform for another round of ammunition but there was too much adrenaline coursing through his veins right now. Eventually he found what he was looking for and quickly reloaded and as the Italian stumbled over to him, he open-fired and actually landed his shot.
The bullet hole embedded itself into Feliciano's chest, straight through his heart. Without warning, a slow, steady stream of blood poured through the hole in his uniform and he sluggishly fell to his knees with a grunt of pain before collapsing onto the ground. He didn't get up after that and the only sign of life left was the shallow breaths escaping his body that became less and less frequent.
The Frenchman stared at the lifeless corpse in front of him and felt the weight of the situation start to settle in on him. I killed a man, he thought with wide-eyes, but I am alive.
In order to calm himself down, the man ran a shaky hand through his hair and allowed the rain to comfort him but the little shred of sanity he had left started to make him think again.
That Italian...he was an enemy, right? I know he was being friendly but that must have all been a trick. He must have been a spy and wanted to make his kill as clean as possible just like he did with the others he mercilessly murdered. Yes, I put an end to him; I stopped him from murdering any more innocent soldiers!
Confident with his reasoning, Jérémie turned on his heels, beginning to leave the scene before a soft whimper caught his attention. He quickly whipped around and prepared himself for another fight but instead, immediately froze at the sight before him.
The once obvious bullet hole planted into the Italian's body slowly started to close up on its own, allowing less and less blood to seep from the wound. The small cut upon his cheek sealed itself within seconds, leaving no evidence that it was there to begin with. Little by little, the wounds, even the fatal one, healed within seconds of each other and in less than a minute, any evidence of harm was completely wiped from his body. If it weren't for the still Italian's pale complexion and slow breaths, Jérémie would have assumed that the other was just in the middle of a nap. Within the next minute, the once-dead Italian planted his arms onto the ground and shakily pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to drive away the sleepiness. He blinked unfocusedly at the ground a few times before he met the eyes of his murderer once again.
To say the Frenchman was astounded was a severe understatement. His body stood rigid with fear, uncertain of what to do. He'd never encountered this problem before; he's never seen someone clearly shot to death and bleeding out come back to life. His mind ran through possible explanations, everything from a genetically engineered supersoldier to some higher being allowing this to happen but none of the options seemed like a logical fit. His mind was just trying to explain a phenomenon that could never, in any possible circumstance, happen.
Both the Italian and the Frenchman stood there, one groggy and the other bewildered. It wasn't until the former connected the dots of the situation that his own eyes grew wide with fear.
"I-...This isn't-...I'm not-" The stutters came out in small short bursts as Feliciano tried to come up with a possible answer, his hands moving frantically as if trying to convey his thoughts.
"What are you?" The man whispered incredulously as his eyes shone with pure disbelief. The question came out so quietly that the Italian barely distinguished it from the rain, although it's not like he would answer it anyways; the only answer that he could provide was silence and it only terrified the man more.
Suddenly, distant shouts filled the air and steadily grew louder, indicating the presence of a new party arriving. Within a moment, a group of Italian soldiers surrounded Feliciano, one helping him to stand and two aiming their guns toward the Frenchman.
At this point, Jérémie knew he had to run but the other half of him begged to find out more about Feliciano and what secrets the Italian army is keeping. There are so many questions left unanswered but what choice did he have? This wasn't a simple question you could just look up in a book. For now, he would have to settle for ignorance. Without warning, the Frenchman made a mad dash in the opposite direction, alarming the two Italian soldiers and causing them to shoot in response. For a moment, Jérémie was thankful for the rain that covered his tracks as well as made the Italians' aim less accurate; the rain allowed him to return home in one piece.
XxXxXxXxXx
Within a matter of years, World War 2 was over. As expected, Germany, Italy, and Japan had to pay a hefty price for the casualties and every soldier was allowed to return to their respective homes.
As soon as Jérémie set foot onto the front yard of his home, his family rushed to him with tears of joy in their eyes. All lines of personal space were crossed and everyone from his grandparents to his youngest child hugged every inch of his body and relished in the fact that they had their Jérémie back into their arms, safe and sound.
For the next forty years, Jérémie spent whatever free time he had researching a possible explanation to the occurrence that happened on that fateful day. He would spend countless hours searching through books in public libraries, and when the time came, the Internet as well. Whenever he went out into town, he would always keep an ear out for any mentions of immortality, mysterious beings, or even so much as the name 'Feliciano' in hopes of getting a possible lead on his topic of interest. Wherever he was, Jérémie could not escape his curiosity toward that mysterious Italian.
Eventually, Jérémie's own family got interested in his endeavors, often peaking into the study he studied in to check in on any new information he found. Of course most of his family shook off his findings as if they were nothing more than an overactive imagination; however, there was always one person that took the situation just as seriously as his grandfather did.
"Did you find anything new today, Grandpa?"
Jérémie looked up from his book to see his grandson standing in the doorframe and a warm smile silently allowed the boy in. The eight year-old eagerly padded across the floor and grabbed onto the side of his grandfather's sofa chair, waiting for whatever new information to be told.
"Well, David, I did hear some rumors about how the eyes of an immortal being glow like the moon at night, shining with the souls of millions of people."
Jérémie gave a small chuckle as his grandson's own eyes lit up with astonishment. David always enjoyed whatever his grandfather found about these "immortal beings" and loved to talk about them as much as a child would love to play on the playground. He always found interest in the unknown and just hearing about something new that he can discover like an actual scientist made him feel exhilarated; it was why his grandfather always enjoyed telling him whatever he could find. A sudden question snapped him out of his musings.
"Hey, grandpa? What did the guy look like again?"
His grandfather took a moment to stare into the child's blue eyes before nodding, taking out a pencil and paper.
"He was a really young guy, maybe as young as your oldest sister, and was about the same height as your mother. He had big brown eyes like this," he illustrated his point by drawing the outline of a face and then adding facial features as he described them. "His hair was a little weird, too; on the day that I met him, he had one huge curl sticking out so I guessed he was having a bad hair day," a little chuckle as Jérémie drew the hair along with the odd curl. "And then he-"
His grandfather paused. As he drew the mouth, he was reminded of that day. The day fifty years ago when he met the Italian that provided him with the warmest of smiles despite the situation they were in; just a few minutes later, that same Italian had been over him, betrayal evident in his wide eyes. That moment still haunted him to this day.
"Grandpa?"
Jérémie slightly shook his head to rid himself of the memory and reluctantly drew a smile on the man's face. They may have been at war but that smile felt like he was back home.
"-his smile looked like that." He concluded with a smile of his own.
Now, his grandfather wasn't Picasso but you could definitely recognize an actual person by that drawing alone.
His grandson gave a noise akin to amazement before he stated the name that his grandfather had told him so many times.
"It's Feliciano, right? Mister Feliciano from Italy?"
"Right." His grandfather wrote the name neatly below the portrait. "And since you're a wonderful grandson, you get to keep this."
Once again, David's eyes lit up with excitement and he greedily took the picture, holding it close to his chest. "Thank you so much! I promise that I'll take good care of this picture and find mister Feliciano and be best friends with him, just like you were!
"I know you will."
Years later, Jérémie died of old age. As time went on, David still kept that picture his grandfather drew, keeping it as a constant reminder of his personal goal to meet this "immortal being". As the boy turned older, he found his genuine curiosity of immortality turned into something of jealously and hatred. Every day, David found himself wondering why 'Feliciano' could live for as long as he wanted while each of his own family members were dying at the hands of old age and disease; he wondered why everyone else had to suffer when all Feliciano did was sit and laugh at those around him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to see someone have such a large advantage in life and wouldn't bother to share it. He wanted to give that chance to the everyone in the world so they could live a happy together. He didn't want to see people suffer just like he had to.
So when David did eventually find an Italian website detailing the members of the government as well as providing portraits, it was an understatement to say he was ecstatic.
He carefully pulled out the picture his grandfather drew and did a side-by-side comparison.
It was a match.
It was a perfect match.
His Feliciano matched the same Feliciano Vargas depicted on the screen and now, David was provided with all the information he could ever need to find him.