Hey guys, it's been a while. To be frank, I haven't dedicated as much time to this story that I used to since I have gotten more involved with my university campus and am trying to develop some career skills. It has made it more difficult to get in the right mindset to produce the chapters. Also, the settings of the latest chapters are middle-eastern inspired which are less familiar to me than the more common European inspired architecture which is an added layer of difficulty.

But I'm here anyway.

This chapter is dedicated to boredom. If you feel bored reading it, my goal has been achieved.

main882: Hello! I haven't seen you in the comment section before. Thanks for dropping by. And out of curiosity, how did you manage to push through all 200,000+ words? I probably wouldn't even have done that lol

An Eldian's Journal

The Tale of 1000 Men

Chapter 50: Boredom

As Viktor tried to lead Kurt and me away from the freshly culled corpses, I couldn't pull my attention away from the splatter of mid-east soldier blood on my uniform. It was a web of foreign genetics that I didn't want to be anywhere close to. That wasn't what irked me, however. It was the reminder of what had just happened that boiled inside me. This blood was the signal of the reality I had fully descended into.

This reality carried a smokey flavor, churned to perfection with the lemony drizzles of morphine atop a grill lined with rifles.

Too bad there was no ladder to lift me out of this.

I was still surprised that Kurt's bullet didn't pass through me, though; it was likely since he shot the soldier at an angle. Nonetheless, I untucked the shirt from my pants, and without paying attention to the buttons, I squirmed to take it off. I must have seemed like an obnoxious child trying to take a school uniform off. I just wanted this blood gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

I was being petty, but at that moment, I only reacted instead of thinking objectively as a soldier should do. I was so irrational, in fact, that I reached into my satchel for my water canteen and wasted time trying to wash out the stain.

"Stop!" Viktor yelled at me. "You're wasting water."

"I need to get this off," I dug my fingernails into the shirt. The dirt under my untrimmed fingernails made the scratching less effective than it already was.

Viktor ripped the canteen from my hands and closed the lid. He dropped it into my bag, grabbed my hands, and raised them up. "It's just blood."

"No, it's not."

"You've seen it a million times before."

"Yea, but not theirs." I had never seen Mid-East blood before, and I didn't feel like seeing it again.

Viktor tugged me away, but I had to make one look back at the duet of bodies. I could see their souls pushing through the uniforms, arms first into the world, or maybe it was just the heat waves rising like ghosts from the ground.

I had seen ample corpses in the internment zone growing up and even in no man's land, but I had never seen them before they passed away. That helped lower the impact. However, seeing some humans alive but dead a few seconds afterward disturbed me. Disturbed me like needles dancing chaotically across my forehead.

As I gathered my items, I stared at Kurt. He didn't meet my gaze but instead met the world's gaze around us, likely thinking of another direction to follow. I wondered how his mind would adapt to what happened. Would he grow weak later?

Kurt looked at his map for a while and said neutrally afterward, "let's go in this direction." He pointed his finger somewhere and looked back at Viktor and me. We didn't put up a fight with his thoughts.

I didn't apply much effort to observing the setting as before, but who could blame me? I witnessed someone getting killed for the first time, and I couldn't move on from it. It also didn't help that my mind attacked itself like an autoimmune disease. It was like two different trains of thought or two inner wolves that hunted each other down. One told you the logical progression—just keep following the directions. The other was tied to emotion—my uneasiness. These things chased everywhere, trying to assert dominance over the other but never allowing submission.

My deep breaths only took me so far, so I had to make something else to distract myself: conversation. However, what are you supposed to talk about after a destructive event? I just thought out loud and hoped the boys would reply.

While ensuring the prized journal was alright, I tried to minimize the obviousness of my unsettled feeling and said, "we were so damn lucky with that."

"Yeah," Viktor replied, fixing his bag strap, "if it was three people versus three people there's no chance we would be alive right now. Since it was us three versus two people, we lucked out." He paused, "but I'm sure they were more skilled than us in combat."

While putting the map onto his bag, Kurt added, "we were able to take them off guard. That was the advantage."

"Yeah," Viktor moved to the front of our line as if he wanted to confirm that he was still strong after what happened.

I looked at Kurt and asked, still puzzled. "Are you crying?"

"No!" he turned around and snapped at me. His rudeness whipped like a belt, "stop projecting how you feel onto me."

"I'm not projecting. Crying would just be a regular reaction."

Viktor said, "being emotional here is probably what gets people killed."

I kept my mouth shut since I knew they were correct, but I had to ask, "I still don't get it. Why would they shoot us in the first place? Isn't it against military law to attack a combat medic?"

Viktor responded after motioning us to keep moving, "it's like drinking before you turn 18-years-old. It's illegal, but barely anyone listens to it."

I asked, confused by this comparison, "what does that have to do with a combat medic?"

"It's against military law to shoot one, but who will complain about it when the combat medic himself is already dead?"

"Fair enough," I responded, and the conversation whittled away before anything of great substance could be discussed. Maybe we were just meant to have a few minutes of silence, not for the death of two soldiers but for the end of our innocence. Too bad we didn't have gravestones for that.

That tiny bout of conversation did little to lighten my mood. I still felt disturbed enough that my uniform pants got on my nerves. Those sorry excuses for clothing held my legs like wrapping paper in a ventilation-less chamber, almost as if the air was too scared to get inside, but sweat gladly stood in its stead. Never once had I wanted to take a bath as strongly as I wanted to at that very moment.

I guess I shouldn't have expected much else from a mat masquerading as clothing.

On the other hand, I didn't know what to expect from my surroundings. One of the wolves in my mind yielded for a while for me to observe.

This new area that we entered had stacked sandbags lying around, almost like a shield to those that stood nearby. They were like the shelves on a poorly constructed wall if the wall happened to be horizontal. The only things that rested on them were wood chips and the air stretching to get a knot out of its back.

Kurt peered at a shattered pillar a decent distance away from us and asked offhandedly, "by the way, does anyone still remember the traps we were taught during medic training?"

"What traps?" Viktor asked.

"That answers my question right there. I'm talking about the traps where titan serum is disguised as a cure to poisoning."

"I don't think that would be a trap for everyone," I replied, smacking my lips and trying to find moisture. "They're probably just for Eldians."

"Whatever," Kurt sounded sour. "Do you still know which ones are like that?"

I shook my head.

"Hmm." Kurt shrugged, and his satchel did as well, "we should be fine. I doubt we would come those kinds of traps here."

Viktor's stomach gurgled, and he looked at the rest of us with a grin. This was a perfect excuse for something we wanted to consume all along: food. This was an even more ideal excuse than a dastardly event.

Viktor wanted to sit down and eat, but Kurt and I almost had to remind him of our trip. I was prepared to drag him if necessary to keep moving, but logic slapped him in the face without me having to lay a finger on him.

I dug through my sack to pull out some miserable bread hiding within some even more miserable newspaper. The words caressed the "food" with its drab ink, like crusted underwear. I exaggerate, but let us be honest, the bread would have tasted mediocre without the old newspaper anyway.

"This tastes like sadness," Kurt said after sampling a piece he had stored in his bag.

Viktor chewed and continued moving forward, "it's like someone took cardboard and sprinkled salt on it."

I bit a sizable chunk in one go, "I think there's more dust on this thing than there is salt." This excuse for food dried my mouth even further than it already was, and I almost started regretting joking about the dining room food I got back at the training camp. I continued chewing as the gears spun in my thoughts. Due to their lack of moisture, the gears ground together—moistureless things seemed like a trend in that part of the world, even if they were psychological. We needed an industrial faucet to liven things up.

Viktor turned to me with a sprinkle of soot on his cheek, "what are you thinking?"

Kurt also told me, "you better not think that we should have kept those people alive."

"No, none of that." I responded embarrassingly after being pulled out of thinking, "it just feels so quiet out here."

"What do you mean?" Viktor asked.

"So much time goes by with barely any explosions, but then gun sounds show up out of nowhere."

"Yeah. There's not much buildup for things. They just…happen." Viktor adjusted his helmet briefly as if to try to see me better. "There's not much we can do about it except just try to pay attention as much as possible."

"Like right now," Kurt interrupted. "We are not paying attention and someone could snipe us anytime. Don't talk too loud."

A few seconds passed, and Viktor made a loud, singular clap. Kurt shot up an inch in shock and started chewing out the other clown in our group, "are you trying to scare the shit out of me?"

Viktor dusted off a rare smirk, "No one wants to see shit coming out of you."

I hold small moments like those when we were at our most uncertain times as gems in a vault, just underneath my heart, and hidden away from anything that could poison them.

After a brief enjoyment of the renewal of Viktor's antics, I nearly said, "it's almost beautiful out here," but I repealed that statement in fear of more sentimental talk. Almost as if encouraging me, the soldier in the sky peaked from the clouds after a long respite. I hadn't seen him in a while. His rays were fragile, so fragile in fact I barely felt them on my skin, but a piece of metal lying against a sandbag did. It reflected one lonely spark—a reminder that it was mid-day.

My statement spilled, "it's almost beautiful out here." It made a small scribble in the air, one with ink you can't wash off.

"You're definitely not right in the head," Viktor quickly answered.

"Well, I didn't say 'No man's land' was beautiful. That place looked like a moldy rug."

Kurt asked, "how do you know what a moldy rug looks like— "

I tried not to sound whiny, "I don't. I was just making a comparison."

"You should make a better one next time."

"Shut up. Anyway, this place looks a lot better than that. There are not any potholes anywhere."

Viktor kidded, "I'll make a pothole for you, just so I can make you hate this place." He swiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "Can we do something about this heat?"

Kurt joked, "Go ask the sun to turn it off."

"Give me a ladder then, why don't you?"

"Can't. I'm busy carrying you two on this mission. If I move too much, both of you will fall."

Kurt's attitude was more than uncalled for, but I was too busy mining the bread for any nutritional value it could grant me to do anything about it.

I shoved the newspaper back into my bag and bugged my friends to give me a sip from their water canteens.

XXX

Even as an hour passed, the ground around us was tilled with quiet boredom. No enemy soldier came by 'un-tilling' the boredom, so I waited for something to happen with every step I made. The most action I witnessed was the wave of creases in the boys' uniforms as they walked. My boredom had reached such a point that I honed in on how they stepped: the way the miniature heals of their boots stamped the earth, and even the balance of their shoulders shifted as they alternated which foot went out.

Maybe I was morphing into a peeping tom, trying to stare at things. But I couldn't help it. When there is nothing to distract you, you drift towards observing the originally unobserved.

The way they walked seemed different from pre-training camp as if they unknowingly changed how they carried themselves. That made sense, though. The stories in these humans had layered and compounded much like minerals, resulting in more evolved beings, but there was so much evolving left to go. We made a pact indirectly, outside of the deliberate one, to ensure each other could develop even further.

…I failed one of them.

How about the other?

I then remembered the story of our little argument: the dumb conversation we had in a bathroom after we nearly got blown up in a trench for the first time. I was pissed at Viktor then for not apologizing for leading us into an explosion, but when I confronted him about it, we descended into issues I never knew we had about each other. Maybe that's just the thing with guys. You really have to pick at us to get to the problem.

Another problem arrived in the petit form of whining, and I was removed from my introspectiveness. I rubbed my eyes and listened to Viktor whine while he shook his head as if disappointed in the world, "This is so boring."

"What are you talking about?" Kurt asked, sounding as peeved as ever. "We got chased! That was exciting in all the wrong ways."

"I know, but still."

"You can't be entertained everywhere you go."

"Yeah, but still."

Kurt twitched. "Stop saying 'still.'"

"Still."

I interrupted the conversation with something just as unproductive. "Let's play a game."

"Oh, come on." Kurt sighed.

"No, this sounds good. Let's hear it." Viktor said, his face almost illuminating like a dim light. "What is the game?"

"Umm…I didn't come up with one yet."

Viktor shrugged. "Alright then. I guess I'll just have to come up with one."

Kurt refuted, "I have a better game idea. Let's survive."

Viktor looked ready to exercise his creativity which, as you all know by now, he sorely lacked—almost sorer than the muscles in my legs that day. That skill in him was less fortified than a blade of grass a dumb toddler sticks in their nose.

"Just hear me out," Viktor said. "Let's find the ugliest looking tree."

Kurt waved his rifle slightly, like an accusing finger. "I think that's the dumbest thing you've said yet. I can't believe you keep topping yourself with this."

"You say that every time I talk." Viktor rubbed Kurt's hair with a glove of dirt, "have some faith in me, you filthy carrot."

Kurt growled faintly like an angry puppy.

To Kurt's disappointment, we began a game of tree-watching in one of the deadliest places on earth. Like some delusional teenagers posing proudly, thinking they had the best features, these trees stood arrogantly, daring to be a different color than the beige they dug themselves into. They were just elephant-sized weeds whose trunks trumpeted 'I need water' like a parched sink does daily with its wheezes.

I pointed at one of the trees, resembling an upside-down broom my mom would have used to attack my papa. Viktor nodded, "yea. That tree looks like it's balding." He pointed to another one in response, "that is even worse."

I tried following where his finger was going, "Viktor, that's a signal tower."

"Look at what's past it."

I looked past to see a tree resembling a strengthened spaghetti strand with a few bits of parsley attached. Or maybe it was just the wall-keeper carrying some leaves. Nope. It was just another miserable tree.

This silly game brought brief humor, but Kurt was too much of a killjoy, and so was our general situation to keep it going for long enough. I came up with a different game in hopes of livening things up again. It was a game Viktor, Lina, and I used to play that would begin with logical questions and lead to illogical answers.

***AN OLD GAME***

Hypotheticals

"What would you do, if the moon fell?" I asked.

"Huh?" Kurt sounded puzzled. "I would hide in a shelter of course."

His answer was too dull for my liking, and I replied, "that's not how you play the game."

"Why not? You asked me a question and I gave you an answer."

"You have to give an interesting answer," Viktor emphasized.

"Fine," Kurt hesitated to say something, but he must have known Viktor would say something dumber anyway. "I'd catch the moon and kick it like a football."

"Ha!" Viktor exclaimed. "That's how you do it!"

"Cool," Kurt's always unstable eyelids vibrated. "I'll ask a question next. What would the world be like, if Paradis never existed?"

Just like that, Kurt killed another moment of joy. Viktor and I met each other's eyes, and I caught his disappointment after he caught mine. It was as if we connected on our understanding that amusement is unachievable when Kurt is around.

I reinforced the rules. "You aren't supposed to ask depressing questions."

"I know," said Kurt. "But I'm curious, what do you think it would be like, Heinrich?"

"I don't know. First thing that comes to mind is that Marleyans and Marley's Eldians would lose a common thing to complain about."

"And with that," Viktor extended my thoughts. "The stupid cabbage man and other people wouldn't have something to blame their problems on. Maybe we would have less bar fights."

Kurt contradicted, "I think bar fights will happen no matter what if you have alcohol and people in a room together." He broadened his question a little more, "what would the world be like, if Eldians never existed?"

"It would probably be just a little better," Viktor raised his thumb and forefinger like pinching salt, "just a little bit."

"It would be just the same," Kurt countered.

"Why?" I asked Kurt. My unease for this conversation grew sharply, but I continued regardless.

"Whoever is second most hated will become the first most hated."

"Who is second most hated?" I questioned.

"We are too busy being hated on to even know that."

Viktor stuck his hands in Kurt's hair again, searching for a switch to make him sound more lighthearted, but that only riled Kurt up. Get your hands off me.

I glared at Viktor's grin. It looked forced like something was receiving a free ride on the corners of his mouth and weighing it down a little. If his grins before the training camp were fluffy pastries, the ones post-camp looked defeated. It looked like those annoying mid-easterners stole the yeast.

Don't underestimate the power of Viktor's grin, though; he tried his best.

I bore the urge to mention an observation I held for so long. It pecked at me with its beak, forcing me to loosen it from its cage. "I've never said any of this before, but you guys have changed."

"What?" They answered in unison as if I hurled an insult at them. "What does that have to do with what we were talking about?"

"The way you guys carry yourselves is different than it used to be."

Kurt made a rare joke, "that tends to be the case when we walk down a slight slope like now versus walking on flat land."

"Fair point."

"I get what you're saying, Heinrich," Viktor said. "I keep growing this tiny mustache that I steal someone else's razor to shave off. I didn't have one before joining the training camp."

I grew irritated, "that's not what I mean." I didn't want to spell this out to them.

"Then what?" Viktor and Kurt turned to me.

I took a deep breath, ready to unravel the words I had kept wrapped for weeks. "Viktor, I never knew you would be one to hold a grudge. And Kurt, I never knew you would be the most decent under pressure."

Their eyes were subtle. Viktor's chocolate eyes held firm, and Kurt's honed in me.

"Most importantly, I didn't think either of you would have courage. Even me." I gulped, "but somehow we have it. Why do we keep doing this?"

"You're scaring me, Heinrich." Viktor's words crawled towards me.

Kurt muttered under a slow breath. "Why would you say all this? Are you expecting us to die here and trying to get everything off your chest before that happens?"

"No," I shook my head aggressively. "That's not it at all. I'd just like something to talk about that's not the weather. And you also yelled at me a while ago about not sharing enough, especially not sharing the moments with that wall-keeper."

Viktor paced away and stood still as if drawing some tension, "I don't think it's courage." He faced us, "I think it's the fear of guilt."

I returned, "guilt for what?"

"Guilt for not trying to do something when you have the chance. We have a chance right now to get the people necessary for a proper attack, but if we don't use it, the thought that we could prevent those that may die will nag me for years. It'll probably nag you both too."

"Speak for yourself," Kurt intruded. "I'm standing here since the thought of you two dying out there in an honorable way, following a mission, and I could die in some weak and pathetic way in the trenches bothered me." His eyebrows knitted as if the thought of it anguished him too much.

I almost leaned back like I was caught off guard by the selfishness.

"We're not supposed to be heroes…." Kurt trailed off and lowered his look to his right hand. He hushed, "I think I am changing," and showed his fingers. They trembled, almost chronically, failing to stop. I wondered if this was like how a snake's venom starts at one point and spreads. The only thing is Kurt wasn't bit by a snake but rather a trigger when he pulled.

It was like his hand was experiencing trauma.

He then snapped his fingers and said sheepishly, "I'm just keeping a rhythm." He continued snapping, "that should definitely help."

It didn't.