Chapter 2

She wore an expression I recognized once again—one that passersby's would take on as they looked at us from a distance. Always watching, even in times of battle, and yet for all the pity they threw our way, they seemed content to watch from afar.

Click, click, click. The sound was tolerable even when it transformed to the low purring of a mechanical beast when multiple observers would join in. After years serving under the Commander, I had developed a dislike to having things pointed at me. I understood it wasn't a weapon - that much was made clear when the Commander would berated us for stopping our progress even when the observers were to our back. No point in killing them if he said they weren't our enemy.

I looked at them, raised my gun and gave a little wave showing off a toothy smile. Most of them flinched back, one even going as far as to momentarily lose his footing and stumble to his side.

Life was about enjoying the little things.

I turned and ignored the tingling sensation running along my back from their prodding stares.

Some part of me envied them, not for their seemingly peaceful lives as they stood a distance from us taking pictures of who we were, what we stood for, what we've done, but for their status as observers.

Maybe that's why the woman that stood in front of me annoyed me so much. She looked at me those pitiful eyes even though she no longer held the status as an observer. Whether willing or not, her status had been ripped apart from her and now she was downgraded to the title of "player". She had no right to shower me with pity. I wasn't a victim and I never will be. I'm me - though admittedly, I'm not quite sure as to what that means.

I coughed to drag her attention from the musing she seemed to find herself in. I wouldn't be punished by the Commander for her inattentiveness.

She looked at me, her eyes muddy with confusion and spoke the first words of our short-lived encounter.

"I wasn't aware there were children here."

I blinked my eyes several times, processing her statement. What did she mean by it? Was she questioning as to why a person of my age was here or was she inquiring whether or not I was a soldier? Was it a mixture of both or neither?

It didn't matter anyway.

I swelled up with air and pushed my chest out.

"There aren't."

I was particularly proud of that statement. My emotions may be muted but I still felt the thrums rattling their chains.

Turns out the learning curve to being a child soldier was a steep one. We were many, then we were few, then it was just I.

We were treated as expendable, the first to be sent off and the first to die. Despite the heckles others would yell as they watched us sprint toward the unknown, I knew that our existence was useful. We were distractions, drawing bullets meant for our superiors. We served as disposable tools, able to scope treacherous areas and alert our allies of enemy presence by collapsing to the ground due to being riddled with bullets.

Some small part of me took solace in the fact that their deaths had some meaning. I may not have known their names or even felt a kinship towards them, but I recognized their worth.

Did I even qualify as a child anymore? Innocence no longer had a place within my soul. I had bled and drawn blood. I had slaughtered countless people, pumping bullets into those the Commander had deemed unworthy. Even the group's rite of passage consisted of executing prisoners with a machete.

Ah…I hated these types of questions. I just wanted to feel. I wanted to get back onto the wet ground and feel the beat of the world. I wanted to tear my chains off and submerge myself in the emotions of others. I wanted t-

She snapped her fingers and beckoned me forward with a motioning gesture.

She wasn't as fragile as I had thought. I could hear the steel that had grown within her voice during her stay here. Resignation may have filled her but something still kept her going. A purpose perhaps?

I came a few paces closer to the woman. I received a pointed stare in response.

She rolled her eyes and blew a breath of air upwards. She lifted her hand and pointed to the ground beside her.

I moved once again.

Her hands leaped to my side and grabbed the lower part of my shirt and pulled upwards. I struggled against her grip, almost deciding to crouch down and lose my shirt completely to escape the clutches of the woman until I remembered the words of the Commander.

The wound wasn't serious - just a minor gash from a bullet that nicked off a piece of flesh.

My shirt was pulled above my head, blocking the view I had of the woman. I fidgeted nervously, feeling the cold touch of her fingers dancing along my skin as she prodded the minor gash.

I could faintly see her outline even with the fabric obstructing my view.

Strangely enough, the sight of a blurred figure comforted me. I didn't feel the stare or see the face. She was just a blob resembling the physical appearance of a humanoid figure.

I let the woman do her work, not paying attention to the specifics of her methods. She was a healer of some kind, that I knew for sure. Men had gone in with wounds and then had come out with considerably less.

I closed my eyes and hummed a light tune. I could envision sparks of embers skipping into the darkness of my sight. The fire cracked and laughed bellowing out strands of smoke that pointed to the moon.

She nudged me my shoulder, indicating she had finished. I still felt the slight wrongness on my left side but the pain had been dulled. The woman was skilled apparently.

I thanked her with a nod of my head, appreciating her services. Just as I was motioning to leave, her hands sprung out and grasped my shoulders.

She looked me in the eyes and whispered, "Be careful". She smiled with a bit of strain, clearly unused to making the facial expression for some time. The woman then shooed me away and went back to her work.

Ah…I had to be careful not to receive her services again. Once was a professional courtesy, twice was a favor, and thrice was a debt.

Grabbing my gun from the guard, I walked off to my tent for some rest.