Take Me Home.

1

“… so delicate, but potent. It makes us a bit more human--is that ache in your heart for a place [or someone] that no longer exists... a sneaky magician. One that takes us by surprise in the most lucid way possible.”

― Efrat Cybulkiewicz

It was the summer of nineteen-seventeen. Hot, warm and burning, the sun was shining in the middle of the sky, so bright and sharp that it hurt anyone’s eyes by tilting their head a bit up to the sky.  They were all fighting… everyone. Young teenagers and retired elderly. It was a war anyway, it was meant to be fought but it hurt anyone’s heart when they came back half of the quantity that went.  War was ruining cities, snatching the joy of summer fruits and the smell of it and replacing it with the scent of death and blood. War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things: the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth a war, is much worse. When people are used as mere human instruments for firing cannon or thrusting bayonets, in the service and for the selfish purposes of a master, such war degrades a people. A war to protect other human beings against tyrannical injustice; a war to give victory to their own ideas of right and good, and which is their own war, carried on for an honest purpose by their free choice, — is often the means of their regeneration. A man who has nothing which he is willing to fight for, nothing which he cares more about than he does about his personal safety, is a miserable creature who has no chance of being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself. As long as justice and injustice have not terminated their ever-renewing fight for ascendancy in the affairs of mankind, human beings must be willing, when need is, to do battle for the one against the other.

There were words spreading between the troops fighting in the mountain that the war would end soon. It was silly to believe, impossibly naive when you are fighting in the battle days and nights, watching fights, victories, failures and all but still hope was an undying immortal bud of emotion for human species, everyday fighters arise from their so called to be bed with hope of winning, not for winning but at least staying alive for at least a day more. Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul. and sings the tune without the words… And never stops at all. The summer ended soon, so soon when you are busy fighting for your life all the time. Autumn came in a flooding rush, rain thick and heavy looking like a storm and making hearts feel heavy while bleeding for the loss of the beloved ones.

War absolutely didn't end that year, not like anyone got disappointed as they readied themselves to fight and fight more like addicts. But it came to a halt, a momentary pause as to refill the sources and renew forces besides getting additional human-force. The pause would not last forever but it would be enough time to be  ready and powerful for the next fight. The surviving troops were sent back through Milano. Some passed through to Roma and Napoli and others toward the countryside where the meadows were untouched without the destruction of the war, so it was like going back to the time where war has not started yet, where war was not shadowing every conversation and every mind.

_______

It was in the middle of October when Seokjin passed through Roma, the beautiful city under the dust of exhaustion and tiredness Seokjin could feel it in his bones. But it wasn't until a few days later that he reached Napoli, The city that was situated on the gulf, on the western coast of southern italy; it aroused from sea level. That was  between two notable volcanic regions, Mount Vesuvius  and the Phlegraean Fields. There was a villa that housed soldiers of the troops from the war till they were called back to the war, and until then it was just resting and regaining the long lost youthful energy of the soldiers.

“There you are!” came a sound from behind as he was wandering in the corridors of the villa on the first flat. He turned around then, saw the dazzling dimples of the other with bright eyes and shiny smile. Seokjin felt calm and content already.