In the year 2011, I started roughly drafting a story based in World War 3, starring a gutsy heroine of French and Japanese heritage.
It was kind of a more sadistic version of Mulan, if you may, and I put in a lot of elements that were present in my own life at that time.
An overbearing Grandmother, a large family consisting of grandchildren with contrasting personalities, and a childhood crush that stayed in the same village. I can't say I'm very proud of this piece, because most of it goes about in a circle (I hadn't really grasped the importance of plot, back then) and the dialogue is stiff and extremely formal.
But it was one of my first works, my second favourite story, (after the Razo and Erin one) and to be honest I'm still in love with the characters and the whole idea of a girl sneaking away to fight in World War 3. So I ask that you lower your expectations, ignore the horrible continuity and narration, and just enjoy this series of drabbles all stemmed from this particular story. :)
~
She didn’t like those
skirts.
Amongst the rocky landscape, a figure arose slowly and clumsily, seemingly
drunk. A few hobbles were accomplished before she tripped over a small piece of
rubble and fell down on the hard and stony earth.
She lifted her feet to the air, up and down and up again
amused by the small silhouette her feet cast upon the wide rosy pink sky. She
wiggled the big toe on her left foot, which was poking out of her worn-out
glittery-pink rain boot. She started to count all the holes on her left boot
out loud because she wanted to pretend she wasn’t alone, she wanted to pretend
it wasn’t too quiet.
“One, two, two and a half…”
Five holes.
All caused by her frantic run
through the forest.
She started to pick at the layer of dry mud coating the
underside of her boot; her head tilted upwards, her eyes scanning the horizon,
quietly mumbling to her self.
Her free hand grasped the underside of her skirt; she
stroked the clumsy stitching with her dirty fingers. The navy blue fabric
fanned about her pale legs, there was a two-inch tear where her legs parted,
and she remembered the satisfaction she felt when she tore the blasted thing
apart with her bare hands during her run. It had held her
back; she couldn’t run fast enough, she couldn’t get far enough.
There were so many people.
She could have easily been one of them.
She took a big gulp of air and held it in her mouth, trying to savor the taste,
the feel. Being a stubborn 14-year old, she didn’t really want to accept the
fact that air was tasteless, that it could not be savoured.
Breathe.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Live.
Her parents wouldn’t be able to do that
anymore. Neither will her aunts and uncles, or Grandpa Cort. And those people
she pushed past, those boys she saw sprawled upon the forest floor, they
wouldn’t be able to do it either.
~
“Where have you been?”
“Out.”
She was on time wasn’t she? Honestly. Grandma didn’t need to worry. She should
have enough to think about as it is.
“Misaki Dillon Perrin, you know what I told you; you are a girl. And girls…”
“Girls are made to clean and to cook,
not to explore every single nook. I know.”
And she did.
Ever since the tragedy, that was all
that she knew, and all that she did. Her grandma took her and her brothers in,
as well as the rest of her grandchildren and had to raise them all over again;
because everyone left in her family after the tragedy seemed to have fallen
back into dull, confused, infancy.
They had to start over again.
And so the boys were sent to the church
for lessons, and then to the outside to look for anything edible. Food was
scarce these days, with the war going on and the raids never-ending. Dinner was
often fruit, and sometimes – when the river water was clean enough, they had
fried fish.
As for Misa being the only girl in her broken family, and one of the only five
in her village, she was made to clean and cook and clean and cook. The boys
would come home after one of their scavenges with grins on their faces and
proud battle scars on their knees. Misa was often filled with jealousy when she
came across scenes like this. She felt isolated. Like someone left out of a
brilliant joke.
And so last month, she started to tag
along with them.
Her grandma was not pleased.
“Misa! You go clean yourself up right
this instant. Girls are made to clean and to cook, not to explore every single
nook.”
Clean and cook she
did.
But the boys pitied her, and when the
opportunity arose, they smuggled her out of the shelter home, and together they
ran laughing, the strong wind blowing against their pink faces, their hair
dancing along with it.
They ran, casting shadows of various
sizes upon the ground, linked by blood and bones, by people who are now, merely
painful memories, by tears and grief, by love.
Misa and her orphaned cousins ran and
laughed and lived for those who live no more.
When tummies grumbled, they rushed back
to an empty home and to a plate of food barely enough to feed one person. But
they didn’t complain. There isn’t time to complain during war.
~
“You missed a spot,
just there darling.”
“Yes, Grandma.”
Misa bent over and attacked said spot
with a dirty rag. The front door of the shelter opened and a man stepped in,
bringing with him a gust of cold wind.
Misa noticed a young boy standing behind him, pale and lanky, his face
red from the cold. He undid his scarf, and wrapped it around his hands. His
eyes were cast upon the cemented floor, almost as if he was purposely avoiding
eye contact with her.
Her grandma greeted them with a
respectful bow and led them to the living quarters. They held their
conversation in hushed whispers. The man spoke with a thick Irish accent and he
was trying almost desperately to sound cheery. But his smile did not reach his
eyes and his voice was rough and forced; almost as if he was holding back
tears.
“They found his body this morning, the
funeral is most likely to be held this Friday.
Mrs. Perrin, I know my brother would have wanted you to say goodbye.”
Mrs. Perrin’s eyes welled up with
tears. She glanced sideways at the lanky boy whom was now struggling to get his
wet coat off.
“Where will Evren stay?”
“At the shelter home of course. I have to get back to the army, the men need
me.”
“Jai, I think the boy needs you more
than they do.”
Misa contemplated the scene with fascination;
her grandma had her head held high, her small figure tense and her eyes wild
with anger. The man named Jai looked down upon her from his eight feet of
height, seemingly unfazed.
“You don’t know what
any of us want. You don’t know us at all.”
And with that, the man stormed off,
grabbing the boy by his sleeve as he left through the front door.
Misa pretended she had not seen the
outburst, but she scrubbed the floor with a newfound intensity, working off her
anger. How dare that man speak to Grandma
like that!
She felt a hand tap her back gently.
She turned around to find her grandma holding a wet coat, with a rather
sheepish smile on her face.
“Misa dear, return
this to poor Evren, will you?”
And so Misa did as
she was told.
Like always.
~
Misa held on to her thin cardigan
tighter, the wind seemed to be pulling it away from her, determined to get it
off her body. She trudged through the snow, her sparkly pink rain boots leaving
a trail of glitter behind her. She cursed at herself for forgetting that the
glue she used to apply said glitter was still wet, knowing very well that her
boots were most likely to be dull pink and bare again by the time she reached
home.
Still, she carried
on.
Evren and the rest of the Cael family
lived on the eastern side of the safe village, a good 15 minutes away from the
Perrin’s shelter home. It was a rather grand place, or at least grand to those
who live at the base. The large house was made of bricks and concrete, unlike
the rest of the wooden shelters that surrounded it.
She once heard two wives gossiping
about the house’s water system. Apparently, they received hot water full-time,
which was considered a luxury. This made
the Cael family the envy and the talk of the rest of the village.
It seemed to make sense to Misa though;
almost all of the Cael family was in the army, with the exception of Evren, who
was just shy of turning fifteen and deemed too young to fight.
Misa concentrated on climbing the steep
steps that lead up the small hill where the Cael house sat. She placed a tiny
fist upon the shiny wooden door in front of her, but before she could knock,
the door flew open and there stood Evren, his face flustered.
“You left your coat.”
He merely glanced at her for a
split-second before wrenching the coat out of her hands. He tried to close the
door then, but Misa stuck her foot through its frame and pushed the door back
open before he had the chance.
“Oi! A thank you wouldn’t hurt you
know.” Misa spat out. “And haven’t your parents thought you not to grab things
from people?”
“My dad is dead. Mum is sick. So no, I
don’t think they’d have the time to teach their son useless manners.”
Evren’s voice was softer than a
whisper, but he spoke the words with such viciousness that Misa had to take a
step back, afraid that he would hit her.
“Well I’d go and get myself killed too
if I had a son as awful as you,” Misa muttered.
A lot of things then happened at once,
Evren pulled at her hair and Misa tripped on the steps that lead up to his
house. Then, something small and fluffy jammed itself between Evren’s legs and
they fell all together, a ball of limbs and shouts and fur down the small hill
and into the snow.
As soon as her body hit the snowy
ground, Misa sprang back up, her fists in front of her, ready incase Evren
decided to strike again. But the boy was too busy examining a small furry
creature, asking it over and over again if it was all right.
“Hey! That’s ours!” two voices chimed,
and Misa heard two pairs of feet make their way down the hill, and felt
suddenly annoyed.
“Zeb, Zane! What are you two doing
here?” she asked her twin brothers pointedly.
“Nothing Misa-chan, we were just
clearing up some rumors!” exclaimed the boy on her right, before he took the
small creature from Evren’s hands.
“Is he okay, Zane?” piped up the boy on
Misa’s left.
“Yup, Chesh here is still fine. Aren’t
cha boy?”
The two started to coo over the animal,
which to Misa’s amazement, turned out to be a skunk.
Then suddenly,
something came to her mind.
“Hang, on. What do
you mean by clearing up some rumors?”
“Uhm.”
“Well, you see…”
“You tell her.”
“No!”
“Fine, we’ll both tell her.”
“You do it!”
“No!”
Misa rolled her eyes, “Honestly,
someone please tell me what’s going on before I tell Grandma.”
The boys widened
their eyes and hastily burst into a tale.
“Those girls down by
the south side, it was them!”
“Probably tricked us, they did!”
“Yeah, those girls!”
“They claimed the Cael’s had a hot tub
out back, and we, well…”
“We just wanted a go, Misa! T’was all
we wanted.”
Misa couldn’t help it; she let a smile
spread across her face. Her brothers had a way of making her heart melt, no
matter what mischief they got up too.
She reached out for
both of their bright green snowcaps, and yanked them off.
She patted the top of both their heads.
Her right hand rested atop a mess of blond curls, and her left was messing up a
mop of black hair. The boys made irritated noises, but they smiled.
“Why, do you two insist on being as
identical as possible?” she asked them.
“Because we love you and we know it
pleases you,” said the blond boy in a singsong voice.
“Nice save, Zeb,” laughed the other
twin.
Misa laughed, but stopped abruptly when
she caught sight of Evren, a smirk plastered on his face.
It quickly turned into a scowl, and he
pushed himself up from the snowy ground, and made to leave.
“Your blue coat clashes with that
bright red head of yours, do you know that?” Misa called after his retreating
back.
The boy merely looked over his
shoulders and shrugged, but yelled back without looking at her, “As your pink
rain boots do with those dead bodies. But you still wear them. They’ll be the
death of you, honestly.”
~
Okay, Misa. Calm down.
She ducked behind a pile of rubble,
securing the yellow hard hat atop her head. It was definitely too big for her,
but beggars can’t be choosers.
Boom.
Crash.
Misa winced. She had
to get out of here.
She put the soft hand-stitched doll she
found into her canvas waist pouch and made a run for it, her pink boots making
small footprints in the snow. She threaded through the busy path, running
around large piles of rubble, jumping over bodies, ducking into the empty shop
houses when those men got too close.
And as she leaped over a particularly
large piece of debris she caught sight of a bright red flash from the corner of
her eyes. She froze. Her breathing became uneven, her eyes wide.
There it is again.
She made to follow it, but tripped and
fell onto the gravelly ground, her arm coming into contact with something soft.
She lifted her head off of the ground, and came eyelevel with a pair of bright
blue eyes, coated in an almost milky like sheen.
She stuffed her fist
in her mouth before she could scream.
Those eyes stared blankly at her from
behind a broken window; rubble surrounded the man’s body, his figure trapped
behind a concrete coffin. His arm was outstretched, it seemed that he had
punched it through the window in a desperate last attempt at escape, before the
building came crashing down.
Enclosed within his
large fist was a paper, battle-worn, but still readable.
She carefully touched the man’s wrist
and felt for a pulse. All that greeted Misa was terrifying silence. Then, gently, she pulled the paper out of his
fist, and put it gingerly into her waist pouch.
She then pulled up her skirt, and felt
for one of the inner pockets she had sewn on and produced a piece of white
cloth.
Using a bit of wire from the debris,
she erected a small flag right next to the dead man’s body and bowed her head,
almost as if in prayer.
She left soon after,
before the tears broke free.
~
“But Grandmaaaaa!”
“Don’t but me, Zane
Perrin! I said no, and that’s that.”
Zane folded his arms across his chest
and puffed out his cheeks, clearly unimpressed.
Zeb laughed at his brother’s demise,
and took his turn. The twins and the rest of the boys were playing a game of
cards in the living quarters.
“4 green triangles.”
“That’s not fair! Zeb, you cheated!”
exclaimed a short, blonde haired boy with honey coloured skin. The boy sitting
next to him, who was wearing large horn-rimmed glasses nodded in agreement
while another boy with pale hair and even paler skin defended the dark haired
twin.
“Stop being sore
losers, you two. Honestly. Marcus, with skin like yours, and a mouth like that,
people would think you’re from Jersey Shore.
And Himangi, please, you’ve got brains. Don’t try to side with Marcus.
You’ll only embarrass yourself,” said the pale boy, before he turned his
attention back to a fair boy with brunette bangs, who was sketching on a piece
of cardboard.
“The hands should be
slightly larger, don’t you think Kyoshi?” he offered.
Kyoshi nodded, and
thanked the pale boy shyly.
A curtain was pulled
back and Misa stepped out in her towel, her face red after the cold shower.
“What’s happened now
Josiah?” she asked the pale boy, noticing that Zane was much less cheery than
his usual self.
“Zane’s just asked
Gran if he could go round to the Mess Hall this evening. She said no,” replied
Josiah.
“The Mess Hall? What
for?”
“To join the army!”
It was Marcus who
answered; he lifted his tanned arms in a mock salute and bowed.
Zane gave him a
filthy look, as if the boy had just revealed a dirty secret. Zeb made sure to
avoid eye contact with his sister, and suddenly found the back of his hand very
interesting.
“What do you boys
mean, to join the army? Haven’t enough men been sent for slaughter?”
Himangi stood up and
pushed his glasses back up his broken nose.
“There’s not enough
anymore Misa-chan. They’ve started to get desperate, and they’re stopping at
every safe base, trying to recruit anyone older than 10.” He then turned
towards his brother, as if for confirmation.
Kyoshi stopped his
sketching and nodded solemnly.
Misa started, “But
they can’t do that! Ten years is still too young! Who do they think they ar-“
“We’re all going to
register, each family has to register a son.” Josiah cut her off, tugging at
his pale hair nervously. He knew she would react this way. He knew it was a
stupid idea.
But it was the only
one they had.
“LIKE HELL YOU ARE!”
Misa was yelling now, droplets of water fell from her wet, dark mane onto the
cemented floor. She couldn’t help it. She was terrified.
Terrified of losing
all that she had left.
“Misa, please calm
down,” said Zeb. “We were just messing around, besides me, Marc and Zane are
too young anyways!”
“But Himangi, Kyoshi
and Josiah aren’t, ” Misa said, as she turned to the three boys; each of them
had solemn looks on their faces. Her eyes scanned over their figures, taking
them in, trying to empathize.
None of the boys in
her family looked their age. Marc and Zeb and Zane were chubby and shorter than
most nine year olds. Himangi was tall, but frail, and his huge glasses made him
look much younger than his twelve years of age. His light bangs were pulled
back by one of Misa’s hairbands, the one she thought she lost days ago.
Kyoshi stood next to
his older brother, peering at her from beneath his bangs. He had his head
tilted downwards towards her. At only eleven, he was the tallest among the
family, and it annoyed the older boys to no end. Sweet, shy Kyoshi. Silent
Kyoshi. Crybaby Kyoshi.
She couldn’t imagine
him fighting in the war.
Josiah stood opposite
Misa, his green eyes glaring back at hers. They held eye contact, each daring
the other to look away. Josiah, who was short for his age and much too pale,
who did not look like any other thirteen year old. He had a voice much bigger
than his small frame, and dreams much greater than the world might permit.
He had always been
ambitious, Josiah. But his pride did get to his head sometimes. Always stubborn
yet always trying to help.
He was also the last
one among them to recover from the tragedy.
If he leaned a bit to
the left, or if he jumped up too high, or ran too fast, you could almost catch
a glimpse of what isn’t there, of what was not normal, peeking out from under
the frayed hem of his pants.
She sighed, and
looked away, admitting defeat.
These boys.
Her boys.
Once they got an idea
into their heads, there was nothing anyone else could do.
“Do you think they
let people with only one good leg into the army though?” she asked Josiah.
He scowled, and
lowered his pants a fraction. The metal that was his right leg was completely
hidden now, and if people didn’t know any better they would have saw him and
thought nothing of the way he limped.
“I want to come too,”
she admitted softly, carefully, making sure her Grandma didn’t hear.
Now it was the boys
who were yelling, one voice overlapping the next.
“What do y-?”
“Are you daft?”
“No-”
“Course not!”
“You’re a girl!”
There it is again,
that damned word.
‘You’re a girl Misa. Girls don’t climb trees Misa. Girls cook and clean
Misa. Act like a girl, Misa!’
“Girls can fight too
you know.”
“Yeah, right,”
laughed Marcus.
Before Misa had the
chance to hit him, the front door opened and a lanky figure stepped in.
“You guys coming or
what?”
Taken aback by the
figure’s sudden appearance, the boys started to scramble to get their coats and
boots on. Zeb and Zane were running about, looking for their gloves.
“What do you think
you’re doing Evren?” Misa asked the boy.
He merely raised an
eyebrow. “Heading to the Mess Hall of course. I might ask you the same
question, Perrin, it’s freezing out there. You don’t think just a towel would
keep you warm, now do you?”
Misa turned a fiery
shade of red and rushed into her own room. By the time she’d changed, the boys
had left, leaving the house eerily quiet.
‘It was never quiet here,’ she
thought.
She was going to make
sure it never would be.
~
“Damn this bloody
thing to hell and back!”
Misa needed to get a
coat of her own one of these days; perhaps she could hitch a ride in one of
those patrol trucks and stop by the supply market tomorrow.
Her cardigan refused
to cooperate with her. It always seemed to want to fly away from her, to join
the biting wind.
Stupid cardigan.
As she made her way
down the path that lead to the Mess Hall, she noticed a large crowd made up of
men right outside the small building. They were gathered around a short, stocky
man with a rather thick mustache whom was mounting a handsome white stallion.
It didn’t take her
long to spot the bright red mess that was Evren’s hair, and with her hands in
her pockets, she passed the Mustache man and made her way over.
Something was chewing
her hair.
She screamed, and
turned around, surprised to find the white horse right in front of her, it’s
nostrils flared. It sniffed her face, and for a moment, Misa envisioned a
rather large white dog licking its owner’s face.
“Hello there,
handsome. What’s your name?” Misa held out her hand as she spoke softly to the
creature. It gently placed his nose beneath her palm, as if asking her to pet
him.
Someone slapped her
hand away, and said in a rather huffy voice, “It is a horse, silly girl.
There’s no need for names when its duty is to serve! Now what message has the
village sent that is so important, they had to get a poor girl such as yourself
to deliver it?”
Moustache man stood
directly in front of her, his head tilted upwards. Misa was slightly taller
than him, but his presence seemed to loom over her, terrifying her speechless.
“Well?” he demanded pompously.
“She’s with me.”
