War Story

Wolfe stood on a crumbling curb of south-east Brisbane. His was face wracked with pain, guilt and remorse. He peered around at the now lifeless street, remembering the loss of life, the loss of friends, loved ones; people whom he had known for many years. He peered around and felt a jolt within his stomach. He found a park bench and sat himself down with great difficulty. His insides felt like snakes slithering inside him. His vision blurred, becoming darker, darker, until finally his head fell limp upon the park bench.

Wolfe found himself back in his dimly lit apartment. Looking out the window he noticed the bustling, the life which flourished within the street below. He looked closer and noticed a body, lying limp on a park bench in the distance. Squinting hard he tried to see it closer, but dismissed it as an optical illusion. He turned around and rubbed his temples slightly.

As Wolfe walked outside of his apartment building a wave of warmth greeted him. He smirked slightly and proceeded out into the street. Two people in the distance waved his down, he tried to look away, pretend he didn’t see them and continued walking, however, they he caught their attention once again. They made their way through the crowd and confronted him, “We’ve been waiting for you, Blackfire.” One said cockily, the other laughed, reaching into his pocket. “Really? Well, whatever it is, I don’t care, I’m not interested,” Wolfe replied snidely, beginning to walk away. The first person grabbed Wolfe’s shoulder and forcefully pulled him back, while the other person revealed a rather large, sharp athame. Wolfe glared at the men, “Now, Blackfire. Why do you have to make this harder? Why can’t you just hear me out?” said the person holding Wolfe, the other moved closer to Wolfe his blade getting closer to Wolfe’s throat. Wolfe began to sweat slightly, eyeing the blade which now threatened his throat, “I’m listening,” Wolfe said in a nervous voice. The two men withdrew their threat and lead Wolfe into a dark, damp alley. After about an hour of straight talking, Wolfe left the alley. He knew that the men were apart of a gang, which, for some reason, always employed him to do their bidding. Yet, this time, he’d been handed a gun and told to shoot a person, whom he’d never met.

Knowing time was precious; Wolfe hesitated very little, but still conflicted in his thoughts. His mind felt like it was going to explode, his thoughts tempting to proceed, his conscious telling him not to. He walked through the streets, his back-pocket now hardened by the hand gun he’d been given. He looked around the crowd, knowing he’d have to do what he’d been asked to do, knowing that if he didn’t he’d be killed himself. Wolfe looked around the crowd, hoping the person he’d been sent to kill was not present within it. Unfortunately his hopes were diminished as he peered around and found the person whom he was sent after.

He looked at the man, knowing what was about to happen. He stepped around a large crowd who seemed to be watching Wolfe intensely. Wolfe could feel the burning sensation of the people watching him. He reached behind him, reaching into his deep back pocket, hoping he’d wake up, hoping it was a horrible dream. He began to pull it out, slowly, still waiting, wanting to awaken. He pulled it out and pointed it at the man’s head. Screams echoed throughout the streets, as women, children and business men all scurried away in fear of Wolfe. Wolfe knew what to do, his finger lay on the trigger, and he could feel his hand, his entire body shaking. He looked the man in the eyes who now was begging, pleading Wolfe to spare his life. Tears welled up in Wolfe’s eyes; he shook his head and whispered word of complete sorrow “I can’t”. He closed his eyes, knowing he was about to take another’s life. He pulled the trigger, the booming gunshot echoed throughout the street. Wolfe threw the gun and fell to his knees, hoping he’d only dreamt the last few minutes.

Wolfe heard the cocking of guns all around him. He peered up, trying to see who was about to kill him. Noticing the several men around him, Wolfe felt his knees shake. He knew his time was ended. “Spare me, please” he pleaded with the person who looked like the leader of the gang. In a gruff voice the man responded, “Give us one good reason,” Wolfe’s eyes widened at these words. He stood up and began explaining why he’d done what he’d done. He explained everything to them, all in the hopes of sparing his own life.

Wolfe watched as the gang withdrew their guns, yet they still watched him closely, “We’ll let you live, for now!” they said beginning to walk away, following the same path Wolfe had taken several minutes earlier. Wolfe stood up, resting himself up on a lamp-post and watched the group disappear.

Violence erupted from the little darkened street as gun shot and Molotov cocktails exploded. Wolfe knew what was happening, he did nothing though, nothing to help, nothing to hinder the fighting. Yet, sadly, he had helped; he’d done the bidding of one gang, causing wide-spread chaos. He looked up, a whistling sound emanated from an invisible source. He could hear the threat and began to run, yelling, calling pleading others to run, yet none followed him, no-one ran, and no-one cared. The bomb dropped, killing thousands, Wolfe quickly dived into a brick building, hoping that the explosion will be hindered by the brick-lined walls.

Wolfe snapped back into reality, looking around, remembering the devastation, knowing now that he had caused the death of thousand, by the death of one innocent person. He looked around, weeping. He looked down at the pavement close by and saw a small, hand-held, silver gun. Knowing that that gun had been the one to cause the pain, the death, the decay, he picked it up, holding it tightly he looked around. The city’s street lights dimmed significantly as another life was lost, another soul destroyed.