Punching War felt wonderful and confusing all at the same time. It was like smacking your sister or hitting your brother; sure it felt good and relieved some stress, but you knew it was wrong.
I didn’t like the fact that hitting him felt wrong.
My punch didn’t knock him 500 feet away and through a building, or miles into the air. It did lift him off his feet and put him on his back, about a foot away. I took this as a good sign; as long as I could knock this guy down, I had a fighting chance.
But if I won the fight with him, what was I going to do then?
War looked up at me like I just told him that there was no Santa. There was genuine hurt in his eyes, mixed with “why?” In the back of my head, I was wondering why too, and did register a little hurt.
But more than hurt there was anger. There was a lot of anger.
War got up and backed away from me. I didn’t move forward, since I was kinda curious if he had something to say about what I had just done. He asked me why I hit him, why would I turn my back on what is, in his words, a glorious post and boon to humanity. I told him that I didn’t ask for this, no one consulted me… I was just told “Here, do this.” I told War that I was happy when he killed me, happy that my horrible life was over. I didn’t have to wake up everyday and continue to hate myself, to feel the disappointment I had become to my family, my friends. I told him that he took the one decision that I had made and that I was happy with, my decision to just stop fighting and die; he took that away from me. And in taking that away, also tells me that I was born to some higher purpose, which was killing people that may have actually been happy in their lives, who did nothing to deserve being wiped out? Fuck you, Steve.
War looked at me wide eyed and mouth agape. He said that he couldn’t believe that I would turn my back on my family. He barely got that sentence out before I moved on him again, plunging my right fist into his gut. He doubled over and I hit him in the side of his head, staggering him. I stayed on him, figuring that I would just continue to hit him until I got tired. But I never got tired. I just kept punching away, dropping War to his knees. I grabbed a fistful of his hair in my left hand, and with my right, just wailed on his face, as fast and hard as I could. I eventually stopped hitting him, mostly because I heard guns being cocked behind me. I let go of his hair and War fell to the ground, unconscious. I looked over to see the General and his soldiers, guns aimed in the direction of War and me, and I just waited. I didn’t know how long they had been standing there, what they may have heard or what they planned to do now. The General had his left arm raised, which I guess is what kept the soldiers from firing on us. After looking at me for a bit, he lowered his arm slowly, and the soldiers lowered their guns.
The General walked over to me, and patted me on the shoulder, just like War had. He told me that I did an excellent job, and that I should be proud. I asked him how much did he see, and he told me that he saw all of it, heard all of it.
He told me that he wanted to talk to me about my future.
I had no desire to talk about my future. I turned away from the general, and started to walk. He was yelling how I would be a secret weapon for our country, could use abilities for the greater good, that my uncle would have wanted this.
That’s when I stopped. I never told anyone about what my uncle said to me in (possible) relation to this… mess that my life quickly became. I looked at the General, accusing him of knowing more than he let on. He just looked at me and smiled…
end part 6
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