Stuff

Cellular Warfare

It felt like waking up from a nightmare.

Waking up from the vague memories of his childhood, from the immense training he received. He was born for battle, but he witnessed his brothers and sisters get killed by his trainors, as they were deemed unfit for the battlefield. He witnessed the trainer shoot his fellow soldiers, his close siblings and comrades he knew, their insides spilling out of their bodies.

He was the only one of his family left.

Now he wakes up from this trauma, triggered by a sense of foreboding. What was happening? He could see his fellow comrades trembling in fear. Something was indeed, very, very wrong. He sees someone pushing through the orderly ranks of the other soldiers. It was the smartest general, the brains of the great army, and he didn't look like he was just there for a stroll.

He stared at the distressed general. "What is going on? Why do you look afraid?"

The general smiled weakly. "We are unfortunately under attack. Your training will now be put to good use. Head to Sector 1-B124. Our home is in grave danger."

Rushing over to the heart of the battlefield, he saw his best friend, working hard, struggling to keep fighting the enemy, sweat covering her face. She seemed to be trying to do her best to stay alive, but she looked exhausted. Overwhelmed at the sight of the millions of enemies flooding their precious home. He hadn't seen her work this hard since...

He looked at the entrance of the arena. He was too terrified to go in. Too afraid of the consequences that he had witnessed. People murdered for failing the tests. His brother was decapitated for missing a target. He couldn't enter. He couldn't.

Another one, just like him, was standing on the outside. "Hi," she said.

"Oh, hi..." He looked down. He didn't need someone to know he was petrified of entering the training arena.

She looked at him with sympathy. "I'm nervous, too."

"I can't do this," His voice trembled.

She smiled. "Come on, let's go in together."

He wasn't so sure. "I'm scared. What if I don't get chosen? What if I-" He choked on the last word.

"You won't." She gave him a comforting smile. "Come on, take my hand. And no matter what happens, don't let go."

He held onto her hand as they entered into possibly their final few moments. He didn't let go of her hand. The leader of the trainors looked upon the duo with nothing but a poker face. "Head to Sector 1A." He said without flinching.

They entered the designated area, side by side. He looked at the area curiously. There were other trainees, just like them, struggling to fight the fake enemy soldiers, the moment they missed, the guards who carefully watched over their every move executed them. He looked on in terror, when he heard a voice call out.

"Watch out!" She cried, grabbing his hand and pulling him aside. A little bomb had narrowly missed him. He had almost died.

"I- Thank you," he said in a shaky voice.

"All good," She smiled. "Let's keep going."

Through the training arena they both trained together, not leaving each other's side.

But suddenly, an army of the boss trainer soldiers marched through the arena, stomping hard, and examining all that was happening before them.

In the surprise of this happening, he was separated from her for a split second. And the moment they separated he fell into a hole he hadn't noticed before. He couldn't get out. Panic filled his mind. He had failed the training test. He would be killed.

But something was pulling him upward, upward back out of the hole and into glorious light and day. It was her.

"I will repay you," he beamed with gratitude. "Thank you."

She looked at him, sweat covering her face. "I told you I wouldn't let you go."

The memory overwhelmed him. Seeing her struggle like this made him choke with fear.

"I can't...keep..." she gasped for air. Like every breath was a struggle. He felt her pain. He felt saddened that he could do nothing to help her.

"We will beat this enemy, you'll make the reinforcements." She smiled at him. Another short sharp gasp. "I'm...going...to...have...to-" every word made her hiccup.

"No, you can't!" He was angry. "No! You can't die! You can't, I haven't repaid you-"

She took a deep breath. "We are doing this for our country, our nation. Our home. And I will just be a burden if I stay alive." She took one last gasp of air. "I know you and the others can save it." She took her last breath and imploded, right in his arms. A tear fell. And another

"No..." He couldn't stop crying. That wasn't right. Soldiers like him weren't meant to cry. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't believe his best friend was...dead. Gone forever.

His emotions fueled him. Empowered him to have the willpower to defeat this horrible enemy who was destroying their home. Who took her away from him.

Unlike her, who was capable of hand-to-hand combat, he was designed to be a factory, a machine capable of creating many more weapons. His body was a factory, built to do one thing and one thing only: to build little weapons that would completely annihilate the enemy soldiers.

He made millions, billions, trillions of his tiny weapons. Avenging her. Defending his home. He didn't stop working, even when he was drained and exhausted. The mere thought of his best friend who had kept him safe through all the intense training they had gone through, pushed him to keep going. And she was right. This was for their home, their country, their nation.

He kept making the weapons. He could hear the screams of the enemy as they were destroyed, the cries for mercy. No mercy for the enemy must be spared. He closed his eyes and pushed himself even further to keep producing his little weapons to defeat the enemy, to get rid of them once and for all.

Suddenly the screams stopped. He looked up. The enemy was gone.

He looked up at the aftermath of the battlefield. Dead soldiers and fellow comrades cleaning up the remains, rebuilding structures. But he would remember what this enemy looked like, so if it ever showed up at the doorstep of this country again, it would pay. It would pay for all the lives they spent. It would pay for the death and destruction it caused. He would be ready to get rid of the same enemy that had killed his best friend and ruined their once peaceful home.

He knew that he would be ready for the next war.

***

You peel the band-aid off your finger, to see a small scar has formed. The wound has healed. You shrug it off, promising that you would never, ever trust a wooden park bench ever again.

You have no idea of the drama that was going on inside you.