Meggie Luong

Questions Can't Always Be Answered 

By Meggie Luong 

Two very important things are often forgotten in this world. First, silence. The importance of one's voice is only relevant until it is silenced. Second, villains only become ‘villains’ in the eyes of a hero. I had forgotten once as well, until I found myself on that wretched field.

Heavy plated armor hung over my body, weighing my exhaustion further as I pulled off my soiled helmet. Or well, as she pulled off her helmet. I was only a soul encapsulated in her body that, unfortunately, could feel every minor pain.

Every inch of my body ached. Bruises, cuts, and raw blistering skin were being jostled against the back of a huffing horse. As my eyes adapted to the glaring sun, I was met with the horrifying scene of bright blazing flames, unconscious bodies scattered throughout the lands, and dark drying blood soaking my calloused palms. 

Cheers erupted from behind me, causing my ears to ring, and I felt nauseated at the sight of blood seeping into every bit of land it could find. What was happening? Why was I here? Did I do this? Did I… murder all of these people? Perhaps it was the fires surrounding me or the burning sun shining down on my face. Maybe because the disfigured remains of strangers laid beneath me, but I began to feel as if I were being boiled alive. Heat crept up to surround every tingle in my body, throwing my senses into overload.

The world was spinning with questions and breathing began to feel extraordinarily difficult, but instead of relaxing, she spun my head around and cheered along with the hundreds of soldiers following closely behind me. “We did it!” 

Everyone was covered in open wounds and or unkept bandages. Each pair of eyes looking up at me with hope, concealing the heaviness weighing them down. “We did it!” they roared back loud enough to shake mountains. I couldn't possibly understand what there was to cheer about. Hundreds were dead and we were now stepping over the bodies of tragically lost souls. I wanted to leap down from the horse to give each one at least a proper grave to respect their passing, but I couldn't. Not when she controlled the body.

In the blink of an eye an arrow flew past. An arrow so close it would have taken me out if it were shot just a moment later. My attention swung over to the young boy with surprisingly precise aim. Before he could hide underneath the piles of rubble she was already off her mount and approaching him. 

“Stay back!” he screamed as he held his last remaining arrow like a sword. How I wish I could.

“You have good aim for such a young boy. How did you survive?”  She questioned him as she easily flung the arrow out of his shaking hands.

He couldn’t have been more than 10 years old, his scruffy brown hair and pale skin covered in ash. Instead of answering he stared up at me defiantly. “Unwilling to answer?” She asked as she pulled her well hidden dagger from beneath her cloak and held it up to his chin. 

“Why.” he said quietly at first before repeating it louder. “Why? Why!? WHY?”  I wanted to answer him desperately. Tell him I'm sorry. Soothe his sorrows before the inevitable. But no matter how hard I struggled, my lips wouldn't move.

“Why?” she scoffed. No. No. No! She was going to kill him and I cant stop her! 

“Some questions don't have answers kid.” she sighed out as she plunged the dagger into his stomach. I was sickened by the feeling of his blood oozing onto my hands. I knew it. I knew she was going to do it, yet I couldn't stop her. I'm sorry kid. You didn’t deserve to die here.

I felt my vision blurring again. This time not from fear. It's time to leave. 

My consciousness faded in and out of her body back into mine. The thin string connecting us, severing as I passed back into my body.

Pulling myself up from bed, I sighed trying to recollect myself. Sweat beaded my forehead and the sun seeped in through my curtains, blinding me for just a moment. A cold chill continued to run down my spine, the guilt refusing to leave my body no matter how many times I told myself I couldn't stop it. I didn't kill him. It was her. It wasn’t my fault. 

I could still feel the struggle for air enclosing my body like how it did on the field and my hands.. My hands were no longer mine. They had blood on them and I could still feel it. Every time I’m forced to transition I feel that I lose a little more of myself. I already lost my voice and this time I lost my hands to that bloody battlefield. Maybe someday.. I'll even lose my mind.