by GreekIdiot » Mon Jul 06, 2009 4:19 am
He looked upon the crippled old face, and suddenly he painfully remembered what had happened a few days ago. It was a utter embarrassment to his whole military career, being one of the few shameful men to flee the Salnaeta battle, and after days in hiding, he had led his comrades back to the Baltusian border. How sorrow war was, and how he blindly loved Baltusia but hated the GPO for its close minded leader. Stupid, stupid, how stupid he was.
"I hope you are ready Rodriguez", the old man kindly said and suddenly the man in uniform felt admiration for Aristocrat's voice, for indeed it was sweet and mysterious like hell. Damn that old fool. He nodded, unable to find proper words.
Aristocrat smiled, tied a bit his wonderful silk black suit and combed his hair while looking at the nearby mirror. He had not been there, in the battlefield; he hadn't looked upon the dead faces and the dying eyes, all lost in the endless river of blood on the green grass. Smoke and despair, not pain; that's all Rodriguez could remember. And he felt nauseous about it, for there was the monster that started all of this, smiling and desiring even further glory. A scheme he had come up with - that sick old bastard, how sorry he was that he couldn't strangle that little shit. But he was forced to smile gently when Aristocrat straightened his back, placed his comb inside his pocket and prepared to exit the little uncomfortable room with no windows. Stupid country; Kafuristan was a deserted land occupied by a bunch of hypocrite little antagonizing dirty f...
"Shall we?", was Aristocrat's polite gesture pinpointing the exit. Rodriguez, with an apparently blank gaze, followed the hand and opened the door. Both men walked silently along the corridors, with the old warmongering man walking in front, leading the way along this pretentious building that was the GPO's headquarters. He felt sick as many memories flashed in his head; of excruciating pain and the sound of tanks bombing the guts out of the military division in Gaduridos. Oh the shame and stupidity of his weak mind...!
And there they were, amongst a crowded huge room, with many officials wandering around Aristocrat, and Rodriguez was suddenly blinded by the continuous claps of the cameras and the flashes and all the terrible ranting and noise of the emotionless media. He wanted to scream and cry; he wanted to curse, spit on Aristocrat's face and storm out, and head for Baltusia, to honor the men he had stupidly and blindly led to total annihilation - it was all his fault. With a bitter face, like all the world had gone, he climbed the stairs to the elevated stage and sat right to the left of Aristocrat, who was now smiling with disgusting pleasure, satisfied by this attention and how his plan of using Rodriguez as the victim of further Pontesian atrocities would work and how glorified again he would be. Sick bastard.
But nothing mattered to Rodriguez himself. He just sat there, again with the blank expression, but this time the emotion was damn real. And it was painful, for all those memories returned, and despite him trying to trash them, he could not forget. Emptiness had occupied the place where once pride and dignity stood, as well as the will to live. He held his incoming sobs with great force, struggling, but he could not hold the tear that bitterly ran down his cheek.
"What have I done?"