Lament and Fruition
A History Between the Head Agents of the Echelon
By Kagomes_Luver2789
Part 4: "Cognizance"
-------------------------------------
Lord, teach me to be generous.
Teach me to serve you as you deserve;
to give and not to count the cost,
to fight and not to heed the wounds,
to toil and not to seek for rest,
to labor and not to ask for any reward,
save that of knowing that I do your will.
-The St. Ignatius Prayer of Generosity
-------------------------------------
"I need your help."
I almost had to make a double-take when I heard him him say those words to me. For a brief moment, I thought I had temporarily gone insane and was hearing things in my mind that would rid me of my current circumstances, but when I looked at his solemn face I knew that I had heard him correctly. Even so, it baffled me to no end. He came all the way out here, and with his weapon rapaciously despoiled me of my honor in a duel, only to utter this seemingly desultory remark? I believed it to be too much of a contrast to his former behavior, and couldn't help but think it was merely a trap he was setting for me here in the woods.
However, there was something about the look on his face that told me otherwise. He had a determined and somewhat eager expression on him, and I could see a hint of... sadness, was it? I couldn't tell that well because only a small amount of his face was brightened by the moonlight, one side of his head completely cloaked by the shadows of the trees. Even if it was a trap, though, if I said yes then the opportunity to escape his grip would certainly open up. I couldn't afford to give up when the chance was there.
"My help? What good would it do you?" I cautiously replied, making sure that I wouldn't say anything that would alert him of my current ambitions. I can't openly say yes; that would look suspicious, even to the person that requested it.
"Will you promise not to leave if I let go?" he asked.
"I promise I won't," I lied to him.
He slowly slackened his hold on my shoulder, taking his precious time and hesitating before releasing almost all his grip on me. I looked off towards the west, where the thicker part of the forest was, and I was about to dash off into the woods when he spoke once more, this time catching my attention even more than he had done so before.
"My family... they're dead."
I stopped my feet from moving, returning my right leg to the soft soil underneath the cold soles of my shoes, only managing to lift it a few inches off the ground. I turned away from the deep forest and looked at him, his head now pointed downwards, a tiny stream of tears gently flowing down his cheeks. It was strange. I felt an unusual wave of emotion overwhelm me when I saw the sight, and I almost felt the need to console him for his loss. But I stood still on my ground, unable to move, and silently continued to watch him.
"They were ki-killed by these men who suddenly appeared from the forest, and I-I..." he said, pausing to take a breath in between his quiet sobs, "I thought it was your family that did it."
I stared at him with a grand look of disbelief when I heard him. "My family didn't do anything! They were murdered by... yours..." I replied, hardly finishing the sentence.
Up until this point I had firmly believed the Alvarez were solely responsible for this great tragedy that had laid itself on my family. It was almost instinct to put all the blame on them after years of constant fighting between us. Our enemies, as I was taught to view them, were always responsible, directly or indirectly, for all our troubles.
Unfortunately for me, however, after many years of devoted servitude, my train of thought had now met its end as it ran itself over the side of a cliff, exploding spectacularly in midair in a magnificent show of confusion, chaos, and a great deal of other emotions that now pervaded my mind.
His family didn't kill them, I thought, looking at Juan's still-weeping face. It was a rudely awakening slap across the face to finally come to terms with that revelation, but its exit caused an even more frightening question to make its entrance in my mind: But if they didn't, then who...?
A sudden 'snap' in the foliage behind us was all it took for me to realize that my query had been answered.
I tensed slightly upon hearing the sound, trying to appear as if I was still oblivious to the obvious presence of others in our vacinity. I looked over at Juan to see if he had noticed, and as my eyes made their way over to him I could already see his hand lying on the Jericho 941 he had kept concealed in his long leather jacket. The runt is as perceptive as I am, I remember thinking.
Returning my gaze to the foliage behind me, I quickly cast a cursory glance over our immediate surroundings to find out which way our assailants were coming from. I was surprised when I could actually see many of their shadows moving in the darkness of the trees that sandwiched us in this forest, roughly counting about ten or so men in front of us.
I kept searching for signs of movement as my fingers slowly worked themselves over peak of my shoulder, reaching towards the rifle that was still holstered on my back. As the fingertips brushed over the cool steel of the butt of the rifle, I heard the squeeky squeezing of a trigger from behind me, signaling the inevitable shot that would follow. I instinctively lunged myself behind the nearest tree as I heard the gun fire, narrowly escaping the trajectory of the bullet as I felt a cold wind rush past me. If my adrenaline hadn't risen before, it would definitely do so now.
Now behind the safety of the tree, I began to arm my rifle, retrieving an ammunitions cartridge from the straps across my chest. I unintentionally lifted it in my hands so that the moonlight reflected right off its side and into my eyes, and it made me feel the overwhelming need to examine my face on that shiny, metallic, makeshift mirror. I immediately wished I hadn't looked, for the face I saw was not my own. It was a familiar face, and I recognized it in an instant:
The man with the watch.
My soiled face and hideous appearance were that of the man's own profile. His charred mug, my dirty face, his evil grin, all of it. Even his eyes, his worn out and blood-shot eyes were now my own. I had become the unfortunate product of my own prophetic nightmare. That one night of peaceful slumber was my last as an innocent child, and I could clearly sense how deeply this change was now rooted within me.
And, to my own surprise, I boldly accepted it with willing arms.
"Juan," I beckoned to him, not bothering to unfix my eyes from the man in the mirror.
"What is it?" he replied distractedly. His gaze lied elsewhere as well, his locked with those of a man that stood a good twenty or so yards away from us. His mind must have been traveling as he pulled out his 941, preparing to take his first shot.
His first kill.
I pondered my options a while longer as I stared down at the reflection of my slowly, yet steadily aging face. I had once heard before that a man's road is paved by his decisions in life, but I didn't really understand the concept when I learned it. However, I think it was starting to make sense to me when I saw Juan holding his gun up to his target. I understood the changes it would stir in him, and I knew it was undoubtedly going to happen to me if I followed down his path. But I had already made my choice.
"Let's go."
Bang. That was all it took. A single shot had taken down his man, and I could clearly see the pained expression that now flooded his face. He was as aware as I was of the fact that with that bullet -that single, small and cold piece of steel-, he had not only torn away the life that once vividly draped the animated body of a man, but also shredded the very fabric of his innocence into tattered patches of a memory now lost. He was very conscious of his decision, and he understood the horrible truth that it dragged with it. All I could do was offer my silent sympathies as I glanced one last time at my distorted image on the steel cartridge before slamming it into the depths of the waiting loading chamber. It was going to be a long night, and I knew it.
So I fired away.
By Kagomes_Luver2789
Part 4: "Cognizance"
-------------------------------------
Lord, teach me to be generous.
Teach me to serve you as you deserve;
to give and not to count the cost,
to fight and not to heed the wounds,
to toil and not to seek for rest,
to labor and not to ask for any reward,
save that of knowing that I do your will.
-The St. Ignatius Prayer of Generosity
-------------------------------------
"I need your help."
I almost had to make a double-take when I heard him him say those words to me. For a brief moment, I thought I had temporarily gone insane and was hearing things in my mind that would rid me of my current circumstances, but when I looked at his solemn face I knew that I had heard him correctly. Even so, it baffled me to no end. He came all the way out here, and with his weapon rapaciously despoiled me of my honor in a duel, only to utter this seemingly desultory remark? I believed it to be too much of a contrast to his former behavior, and couldn't help but think it was merely a trap he was setting for me here in the woods.
However, there was something about the look on his face that told me otherwise. He had a determined and somewhat eager expression on him, and I could see a hint of... sadness, was it? I couldn't tell that well because only a small amount of his face was brightened by the moonlight, one side of his head completely cloaked by the shadows of the trees. Even if it was a trap, though, if I said yes then the opportunity to escape his grip would certainly open up. I couldn't afford to give up when the chance was there.
"My help? What good would it do you?" I cautiously replied, making sure that I wouldn't say anything that would alert him of my current ambitions. I can't openly say yes; that would look suspicious, even to the person that requested it.
"Will you promise not to leave if I let go?" he asked.
"I promise I won't," I lied to him.
He slowly slackened his hold on my shoulder, taking his precious time and hesitating before releasing almost all his grip on me. I looked off towards the west, where the thicker part of the forest was, and I was about to dash off into the woods when he spoke once more, this time catching my attention even more than he had done so before.
"My family... they're dead."
I stopped my feet from moving, returning my right leg to the soft soil underneath the cold soles of my shoes, only managing to lift it a few inches off the ground. I turned away from the deep forest and looked at him, his head now pointed downwards, a tiny stream of tears gently flowing down his cheeks. It was strange. I felt an unusual wave of emotion overwhelm me when I saw the sight, and I almost felt the need to console him for his loss. But I stood still on my ground, unable to move, and silently continued to watch him.
"They were ki-killed by these men who suddenly appeared from the forest, and I-I..." he said, pausing to take a breath in between his quiet sobs, "I thought it was your family that did it."
I stared at him with a grand look of disbelief when I heard him. "My family didn't do anything! They were murdered by... yours..." I replied, hardly finishing the sentence.
Up until this point I had firmly believed the Alvarez were solely responsible for this great tragedy that had laid itself on my family. It was almost instinct to put all the blame on them after years of constant fighting between us. Our enemies, as I was taught to view them, were always responsible, directly or indirectly, for all our troubles.
Unfortunately for me, however, after many years of devoted servitude, my train of thought had now met its end as it ran itself over the side of a cliff, exploding spectacularly in midair in a magnificent show of confusion, chaos, and a great deal of other emotions that now pervaded my mind.
His family didn't kill them, I thought, looking at Juan's still-weeping face. It was a rudely awakening slap across the face to finally come to terms with that revelation, but its exit caused an even more frightening question to make its entrance in my mind: But if they didn't, then who...?
A sudden 'snap' in the foliage behind us was all it took for me to realize that my query had been answered.
I tensed slightly upon hearing the sound, trying to appear as if I was still oblivious to the obvious presence of others in our vacinity. I looked over at Juan to see if he had noticed, and as my eyes made their way over to him I could already see his hand lying on the Jericho 941 he had kept concealed in his long leather jacket. The runt is as perceptive as I am, I remember thinking.
Returning my gaze to the foliage behind me, I quickly cast a cursory glance over our immediate surroundings to find out which way our assailants were coming from. I was surprised when I could actually see many of their shadows moving in the darkness of the trees that sandwiched us in this forest, roughly counting about ten or so men in front of us.
I kept searching for signs of movement as my fingers slowly worked themselves over peak of my shoulder, reaching towards the rifle that was still holstered on my back. As the fingertips brushed over the cool steel of the butt of the rifle, I heard the squeeky squeezing of a trigger from behind me, signaling the inevitable shot that would follow. I instinctively lunged myself behind the nearest tree as I heard the gun fire, narrowly escaping the trajectory of the bullet as I felt a cold wind rush past me. If my adrenaline hadn't risen before, it would definitely do so now.
Now behind the safety of the tree, I began to arm my rifle, retrieving an ammunitions cartridge from the straps across my chest. I unintentionally lifted it in my hands so that the moonlight reflected right off its side and into my eyes, and it made me feel the overwhelming need to examine my face on that shiny, metallic, makeshift mirror. I immediately wished I hadn't looked, for the face I saw was not my own. It was a familiar face, and I recognized it in an instant:
The man with the watch.
My soiled face and hideous appearance were that of the man's own profile. His charred mug, my dirty face, his evil grin, all of it. Even his eyes, his worn out and blood-shot eyes were now my own. I had become the unfortunate product of my own prophetic nightmare. That one night of peaceful slumber was my last as an innocent child, and I could clearly sense how deeply this change was now rooted within me.
And, to my own surprise, I boldly accepted it with willing arms.
"Juan," I beckoned to him, not bothering to unfix my eyes from the man in the mirror.
"What is it?" he replied distractedly. His gaze lied elsewhere as well, his locked with those of a man that stood a good twenty or so yards away from us. His mind must have been traveling as he pulled out his 941, preparing to take his first shot.
His first kill.
I pondered my options a while longer as I stared down at the reflection of my slowly, yet steadily aging face. I had once heard before that a man's road is paved by his decisions in life, but I didn't really understand the concept when I learned it. However, I think it was starting to make sense to me when I saw Juan holding his gun up to his target. I understood the changes it would stir in him, and I knew it was undoubtedly going to happen to me if I followed down his path. But I had already made my choice.
"Let's go."
Bang. That was all it took. A single shot had taken down his man, and I could clearly see the pained expression that now flooded his face. He was as aware as I was of the fact that with that bullet -that single, small and cold piece of steel-, he had not only torn away the life that once vividly draped the animated body of a man, but also shredded the very fabric of his innocence into tattered patches of a memory now lost. He was very conscious of his decision, and he understood the horrible truth that it dragged with it. All I could do was offer my silent sympathies as I glanced one last time at my distorted image on the steel cartridge before slamming it into the depths of the waiting loading chamber. It was going to be a long night, and I knew it.
So I fired away.