Flash Fiction Thursday-Promises
It was funny, he thought, what promises mattered, which ones stuck. When he was younger, he remembered his mother blowing on a handful of flower seeds, telling him that each one was a promise, a gift sent out into the world. Sometimes, in the early years, he tried to remember how many there’d been, what he’d promised.
Later, during training he’d sworn two oaths and again, they were nothing but promises, nothing but voluntary acceptance of an external code. At the time, all clean cut and rigid with no hair, body fat or morals he’d said each word aloud and meant every single one of them. Later, putting two rounds into his CO’s neck and a third in the chest, he’d watched the last breath rattle out of the man and wondered why he’d ever believed anything he was taught.
Later still, when he’d been stripped of his name, his identity, his past, a religious experience that would have made his Parish Priest proud and disgusted in equal measure, he had promised to do whatever was necessary to get the job done. He had killed the young, the old, individuals and crowds. He had killed whoever was put in front of him and had kept his promise to never, ever ask why.
Finally, looking down the barrel of a gun so familiar he only felt comfortable with it in his hand, he had looked into the fading eyes of a man who, twenty five years ago, had been his best friend. He had turned, as everyone did sooner or later and begged, again as everyone did, but as the tears had run down his cheeks, as his story exploded from his body with sputters and coughs that drove blood out with them, something had changed.
This man had been a boy with a good laugh and a collection of dirty jokes.
This man had been a boy who had helped him up when the bullies had knocked him down.
This man had been his friend.
He killed him anyway.
But later, walking to his egress point, he’d stopped at a florists and bought a packet of seeds.
A seed is a promise, his mother had said. A promise to try and make the world a better place. Promise me you’ll try to make the world a better place.
He thought about the young and the old, the single and the massed dead. He thought about his friend and, to his surprise, he smiled. It was funny, he thought, which promises mattered, which ones stuck.
Later, during training he’d sworn two oaths and again, they were nothing but promises, nothing but voluntary acceptance of an external code. At the time, all clean cut and rigid with no hair, body fat or morals he’d said each word aloud and meant every single one of them. Later, putting two rounds into his CO’s neck and a third in the chest, he’d watched the last breath rattle out of the man and wondered why he’d ever believed anything he was taught.
Later still, when he’d been stripped of his name, his identity, his past, a religious experience that would have made his Parish Priest proud and disgusted in equal measure, he had promised to do whatever was necessary to get the job done. He had killed the young, the old, individuals and crowds. He had killed whoever was put in front of him and had kept his promise to never, ever ask why.
Finally, looking down the barrel of a gun so familiar he only felt comfortable with it in his hand, he had looked into the fading eyes of a man who, twenty five years ago, had been his best friend. He had turned, as everyone did sooner or later and begged, again as everyone did, but as the tears had run down his cheeks, as his story exploded from his body with sputters and coughs that drove blood out with them, something had changed.
This man had been a boy with a good laugh and a collection of dirty jokes.
This man had been a boy who had helped him up when the bullies had knocked him down.
This man had been his friend.
He killed him anyway.
But later, walking to his egress point, he’d stopped at a florists and bought a packet of seeds.
A seed is a promise, his mother had said. A promise to try and make the world a better place. Promise me you’ll try to make the world a better place.
He thought about the young and the old, the single and the massed dead. He thought about his friend and, to his surprise, he smiled. It was funny, he thought, which promises mattered, which ones stuck.