The Child in the Flames
After Dark II: End of the World After Party
"The Child in the Flames" (Experimental Section 3 of 4: War's Reflection)
There is no crueler tyranny than that which is perpetrated under the shield of law and in the name of justice.
-Charles-Louis de Secondat, Baron de Montesquieu
My best friend in all the world. The one who understood me. The one who stuck by my side through thick and thin.
I ate him.
I strangled him with my bare hands.
I separated his flesh with my teeth.
As the many greedy eyes watched impatiently.
God, my fingers trembled and my eyes burned.
Stop stop. You've done it all wrong. It shouldn't take this long to divide him up. Let us do it.
No. He would never allow it.
Not when there was more blood to be spilled.
It was his friend. His. He would do it himself.
His poor poor friend.
I chewed at the sinew of his lean muscles.
Vomiting between cries.
Drip drip, to make the gums bleed.
Drip drip, to make the heart numb.
Children of War. All of them. Crawling and sniffing in a hole of and piss. Crouching with dead legs. Having to breathe in air that wasn't fit for the most infected of vermin. To be hunted by laws that were meant to protect. Torn. Completely torn to pieces.
I've starved. So had the others.
To the point where we ate our friends and family.
Family. I had no family anymore.
So bring it on, I've got nothing to lose. Or so I thought.
No. It wasn't over. Not today. Not tomorrow. Or the next.
It was only a matter of time before they were found.
Time was no friend. Not to the Children of War.
Replacing dark days with even darker days.
Take up arms, my children. Make the non-believers believe. Show them the knowledge. Show them the light. Save them.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Until the word liar no longer looks like the word liar. Awkward. Contorted. Repeated so many times, it cease to hold weight. Put trust in the system.
It is the experience of all young men. No, it's not.
We are left alone to cry. Crying as we touch each other. We see their faces. The ones we've betrayed. Our mothers. Our fathers. Our brothers. Our sisters. And unable to mourn because of our empty stomachs.
I felt it.
A break in me.
From lack of sleep.
From excess of fear.
They were here to take us away. To feast their eyes on what we've become. To condemn us with falsified crimes. To laugh in mockery as we executed our friends in the eyes of the public. We, the Children of War, who had been tricked to stand on the wrong end of the stick.
Children of War. To emerge and fly. No longer shackled to these lifeless husks. Like my best friend in all the world, my dog. They are free. Free to forget the invisible scars—and the horrors—
But not I. No no, not I—
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