CHAPTER-FIVE:A DAY AT A TIME

“...The soft, red leaves of autumn dance wildly on the ground to the wind as if there was a feast. Autumn is here again, eh? Truly beautiful, autumn is. The smell of the earth that is so ever strangely sweet and pleasant. And gentle breezes who’d visit your home to leave their marks behind. A day at a time... we take it slowly here in Willova. What a drastic change of pace from the bustling cities and encampments. Silence is peaceful here, not haunting. The trees can happily sing their songs of the seasons and not a single sound could disturb them. The flowers can show their vibrant beauty without fear of humiliation contrasting to cold dead steel. Absolutely beautiful...

You must be wondering who I am? Well, does it matter? You, a person of the future; you, a man of the Earth; you, a human. Does identity truly matter anymore or has identity lost its place as our chains and our wings. But... if identity still holds a grip on you, then I must say who I am, or my words will elude you.

My name is William Stronovski. I was an ace pilot of the Grenovan Royal Air Force. I was captured on a fake mission, ordered by the high command, to purge me, a dissenter. But that is all in the past. The days when I have to kill to live is over. I was a prisoner of war for a good two years, but the Willovan government’s recruitment program picked me up and took me in as an asylum seeker. They’re a bit short on man-power, you see, and keeping a useless drain on resource around isn’t exactly the most logical option. So now, I’m a factory worker and part-time writer. It’s a good life if you ask me. Working in the factory is harsh but nowhere near as harsh as labouring in a Grenovan war prison. And I have time in the evening to write, it’s good, indeed. But the war rations aren’t exactly pleasant...”

William put down his pen. As the ink slowly dried, he pondered: “Maybe an autobiography is a bit out of my reach... My life isn’t that interesting anyway...“. The thought consumed him for a moment, but he quickly snapped out of it. He stretched his arms high and yawned.

“A message for the future is crucial. One must not linger in the past, but one must never lose sight of it either,” William thought to himself. “Now... what should be the name?“. His stomach then grumbled, demanding something to digest. William glanced at his watch with tired eyes, “7 pm... I’ve lost track of time again, haven’t I?“. He chuckled to himself as he stood up from his chair and made his way across the small yet cosy apartment. The apartment had been provided to him by the Willovan government as part of the recruitment program, so one could not expect it to be fantastic. In fact, when he first moved in, he was quite horrified at the state of this place. It was mouldy, full of cobwebs and the place absolutely reeked of sweat. But after a considerable amount of “blood, toil, tears and sweat,” and decor work, of course, William could now truly call this place home.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the kitchen counter. Besides the sink, laid a box labelled: “rations” with a bold, bright-red font. He reached inside and took out a small paper wrapping. He tore it open and got a deep whiff of the soft, sweet smell of wheat from the solid block of war ration. Taking a whiff was essential because the smell was half the taste of food or, more accurately, it was the taste because the war ration had no taste at all. William took a bite out of the solid block, and it crumbled a bit. He chewed it thoroughly, not because chewing made the war ration any better, no. It was because chewing made the war ration actually edible. He chewed it for a solid five minute and swallowed the chewed mush then takes another bite. The dry ration tasted of ash...

To William, he’d mastered the so-called “Art of ration consumption”. It was quite a silly thing, but he was quite proud of it. In this life, he’s learnt to appreciate silly things and the fact that he didn’t loathe and despise the rations as his colleagues and neighbours gave him a sense of accomplishment, you could say. “Taking it slow is essential; you have to let your saliva do its job. And swallowing a chewed mush is far more pleasant than swallowing a hunk of solid wheat.” A slight grin bloomed on his face as the thought crossed his mind. “How silly...“. As he continued to chew, he walks over to the door, pulled out a key and opened it. The door creaked as he forced its rusted hinges to move.

William glanced at his watch again: “7:13 pm, shit... I’m gonna be late again, aren’t I?“. William then made his way down and down the stairs of the apartment building. His footsteps were heavy, and his forehead was damp with sweat. He stopped halfway to rub and massage his knees as an acute pain shot through his body as if someone had sliced his spine open. It’d always been like this. In this life, he only feared two things: The Grenovan government and stairs. His knees weren’t exactly what they were in his previous life before he was shot down from the sky. It wasn’t because he got injured from the anti-aircraft shrapnel, but because he had been sitting way too often these days, and it was taking quite a heavy toll on his knees. He heaved and wheezed then continued on. After some time, he finally made it out of the hellish stairway, and onto the streets, he went.

‘Alone again huh...’ He looked up to see a sky wiped clean of stars by yellow street lights looking back at him. Its gaze wasn’t the cold and bitter gaze that fateful night, but rather a blank stare. It was as if it wasn’t looking at him at all, as if its gaze was far away elsewhere. Somewhere far south where the stars’ dying light was not out-shined by gentle street lights, but rather, harsh searchlights bearing the white cloaks of death. It had been those very searchlights that had killed him, and it had been they who gave him a new life.

The night streets of the capital of Willova, Willonas, was and had always been peaceful. Even in wartime, peace still held firm. “NO BOMBS CAN TOUCH WILLONAS GROUNDS”, propaganda posters read, and it was true. Indeed, no bombs nor missiles had ever touched the grounds of Willonas. The front lines were far, far away south, and no planes, long-range bombers or otherwise, could even come close within 100 km of the city borders. William knew that fact all too well. He had witnessed first-hand the power of advanced defensive weaponry of the Willovans, as the impenetrable line of anti-aircraft artillery ripped his fragile plane to shreds. As terrifying as that memory was, it was one of the memories that William held dear. That moment under the starless skies filled with anti-aircraft shells, filled with death and painted white with light, he died and was reborn. It clipped his wings, but it freed him from his bonds. William caressed his right cheek and felt the nasty scars that marked him. It was as if his cheek had been turned in a barren, bombed-out wasteland of decay. It still hurt from time to time. Perhaps, that was why people would always gawk at him when he walked home from work. Or perhaps it’s some other reason.

A close friend of his, Mr Carl, had told him that walking alone in Willovan society was unpreferable to fighting a war. He’d give William a whole lecture about how that walking alone means that you were lonely and such and that you walk a path of isolation that no one would walk by your side. It’d always come off as strange to William but if that meant that he could have a reason to walk home with his friend then so be it. William was usually late in picking Carl up though. It wasn’t that William prioritised his book over his friend, but it was just William being bad at keeping track of time. Since customs procedures continued on till 7 pm, 2 hours after most people leave work, William would have 2 hours to write, but he’d always get lost in his work and lose track of time. And Carl always got a bit annoyed at him for it.

The streetlights illuminated the streets and pavements, and the winds whistled their tunes as the trees and buildings got ever so sleepier. The cement pavement was cold and unmoving, but it was not dead. It was very much alive. The city itself was alive. Its lights and its noises were proof of that. William could just barely feel its faint heartbeat as if its heart was one with his own. Under the gentle moonlight, he gazed up to see the starless skies once more. He remembered the feeling of loneliness and regret he had that night. All that was now replaced with a feeling of warmth as the yellow light covered and embraced him.

On and on, he walked through the streets, taking rests every hundred steps or so. He waited a couple of minutes for the night train and hopped on. Time flew by together with the ever-fleeting night scenery of the Willovan countryside. Then William walked on and on until, finally, he arrived at the customs post. In the soft, breaking moonlight, he could see a man leaning against the post with a lit cigarette in his hands a couple steps away. As the figure blew out a cloud of smoke, William waved his arm and shouted: “OI CARL!“. The figure looked up.

“William!” Carl said warmly and walked over, his short and slightly chubby silhouette blocking the light coming from the spotlight mounted atop the customs post. The burning cigarette barely lit his face as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

“You’re late... again,” Carl murmured with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“Ah, sorry mate, I was a bit caught up in... uh...” William racked his mind as he struggled to find a good excuse since Carl was very adept to picking out lies.

"Ahaha," Carl laughed and jokingly said,"It's alright, ol' boy,I was just jestin’, kind of...”

“Oh, c’mon mate, I already said sorry,” William said as his voice got weaker and softer.

“Haha, yeah, I know, ol’ boy. I ain’t angry at ya,” Carl said as he takes a puff of his cigarette, “Ya caught up writing that book of yours, ain’t ya?”

“Oh, you got me,” William smiled and raised his hands up in defeat, then gestured to the streets, “Shall we?”.

“Yea, let’s go, it’s balls-freezing cold out here, haha!” Carl laughed and shuddered as they started on their way.

“So, how was your day?” William asked.

“Oh, the same ol’ routine, rejectin’ folk and acceptin’ folks... mainly rejectin’ though, the refugees are comin’ here more and more,” Carl says exhaustedly, “It’s unfortunate that most of them don’t have the right papers. Even if they did only have a passport, I’d let them through after a background check or two... a real shame...”

“A real shame indeed...” William’s tone saddened as he thought of the countless faces being abandoned to their grim fate. He saw his young, unscarred face on all of them, bearing an empty gaze like the rest.

“Ah, I also met a colleague in the same line of work as me,”.

“The same line of work? You mean customs works and such? Wow, that’s rare,”.

“Yup, you got that right, ol’ boy! No one ever visits this ol’, stinkin’ decrepit post just to talk. It was interesting, to say the least,”.

“How come?”.

“Oh, we just bantered a bit about our lives and such. We were both lonely, fat fucks, ya see? So we naturally got along, haha,” Carl took another puff of his cigarette and blew the smoke to the side as he looked blankly in the distance, “But ‘nough said about me, how about you, ol’ boy?” Carl lightened up a bit as William sighed.

“Just like you, I guess, the same things are done over and over again...” William said tiredly, “It’s a weapons factory, mate, what do you expect?”.

“Well, I was askin’ about more general things, like, say, for example, did ya meet any girls that suit your fancy?” Carl amusingly says as he raises his eyebrows, and a wide grin blooms on his rough, unshaven face. Obtaining razor blades that weren’t dull in war times is quite the task after all.

“Ha, what are you, a fuckin’ gossiping school girl?” William laughed in amusement.

“C’mon ol’ boy! You’re a fine man! A bit roughed up and a bit old, but that’s what the girls like, ain’t it?” Carl said as if to encourage William.

“Ahaha, what are you now, gay? And no, that ain’t what the girls like, if I were what they liked I wouldn’t be here talking to you now, would I?”.

“Oh but I’m telling ya, times are changing, the girls only like veterans nowadays, scars and all, and you’ve got a hell of a good scar right across ya face there,”.

“Ahh **** you,” William said in a joking fashion and pushed Carl lightly on the shoulder, “If you know the ladies so well, then how come you’re still some old fart living in a stinkin’ apartment wasting your lives away on low-quality cigarettes?”.

“‘Cause I don’t like no chains on me, ol’ boy, marriage is a pain in the ***, I’m telling ya,”.

"Oh,then where are you telling me to get a girl?”.

“I’m tellin’ ya to get one, but I ain’t never told you to marry one now, did I?” Carl said and then laughed to himself, “But I’m being serious ’ere, you gotta-”.

“Being serious? Ahaha, that’s the best joke I’ve heard from you, mate!”.

"Alright,alright...I know that I haven't been very serious, but I'm being serious now, you're still young, William, ol' boy, ya gotta settle down eventually, so the sooner, the better. Don't ya want to grow ol' and get taken care of by your children?”.

“Fuck no! I wouldn’t wish that hell on anyone!” William laughed bitterly to himself. Behind it hid regrets and nostalgia. Oh, William could recall so ever vividly, her face when she was still alive. Emily, her name was. Such a gentle soul killed in such a brutal fashion. He could remember her face, indeed. He could remember even more vividly her face when the dust from the bomb had settled. Oh... so ever vividly. William snapped out of it as he focuses back on the conversation with Carl.

“William... you alright, ol’ boy?” Carl says worryingly. It seemed like Carl had picked up on what William was thinking. It’d always unnerved William when Carl did that. His ability to pick up on the smallest of details was quite uncanny.

“Oh... nothing... nothing at all,” William forced a smile, but Carl saw right through it.

“Ol’ boy... I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable...” Carl said apologetically.

“It’s alright, mate... it’s not your fault,” said William, and he meant it. It was wartime; civilians died all the time. Grenova once killed an entire village of indigenous Willovans. And of course, Willova laid siege to Ashkan. That once-bustling city was just rubble now. Emily’s grave laid there as well. William, in all his time in the Grenovan Royal Air Force, never once felt anger towards the Willovan people nor its government. War is war. War is death. War is sorrow. War is vengeance. But, war to William had never been vengeance. Everyone was suffering the same sadness. Why should we look for who to blame and let hatred consume us instead of sharing our grief? Why should we purposefully lose ourselves to inflict more sorrow? There was no reason at all.

“War is hope.” William thought to himself, “The hope of a better future.”

“I’m sorry, William... I thought I could get you out of the loneliness that you locked yourself in, but I brought up painful memories instead... I’m sorry” Carl’s voice shifts to a more serious tone as he came off as brutally honest, “You shouldn’t dwell on mistakes and tragedies of the past, they’ll only weigh you down,”.

“Oh, I know, Carl, I know...” William forced the words out as he choked up. Carl felt an unexplainable and almost stabbing pain in his chest. As if the words coming out of William was his own. The two of them walked on through the flagstone pavements all the way to the train station. They didn’t exchange a single word. It wasn’t that they are silent because the air had gotten awkward between them. It was just that both of them are consumed in their own thoughts. A mutual silence, if you will. William was lost in a trance of remembrance and nostalgia of his old life, while Carl’s mind wandered to places it’d never been and visiting familiar places along the way.

Carl knew beforehand that William would react like this. Many times, he’d brought this topic up, never this direct, but he’d hinted to it many times in the five years him and William had known each other. Carl knew that to break William out of his own prison of emotional isolation; he’d have to hurt William to some degree. “Desensitisation” as they call it in Beholder HQ. It was a “cutting edge” psychological method of making a subject familiar and comfortable with what was once a painful or traumatic memory by purposefully bringing up those memories in a controlled manner. It was used to treat what the Grenovans called combat fatigue and what Willovans called shell shock. Carl’d desensitised countless people before he invoked his right of full rest and was repositioned in the customs post. He’d seen it all. Some soldiers were afraid of fireworks because they resembled an anti-aircraft tracer shell. Some were afraid of the sound of the train because it sounded like the sound of a descending artillery shell. He’d truly seen it all, or so he thought. He’d never seen a case like William before. However, the method was just the same.

Carl then looked up to the starless skies, stretching his view far away, and leaving the familiar corners of his mind to traverse to uncharted, empty spaces. He’d treated so many Beholders and soldiers from the war. And now he wondered if he was one of them. Although he couldn’t recall anything vividly like William, whenever he recalled his past, he was uncomfortable and on edge. The word “Beholder” echoed in his head along with a voice that was so ever-familiar, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

Ah, yes, he remembered now. The voice belonged to his mentor. Carl wondered where he was now. Perhaps he was in a customs post just like Carl, or perhaps he was rotting a meter below the ground with the worms eating his eyeballs out. Either way, Carl couldn’t care less. His mentor had always treated him like shit anyways. Carl sighed to himself. “Once a Beholder always a Beholder, huh? Well, **** you, Renov, you old shit. I invoked the right of full rest too, and so I rest. Now, get out of my head...”

Carl was a Beholder, a spy of the Willovan government. Their main task? Counter-intelligence, reconnaissance and everything that was hidden even from the darker corners of the government. Beholders were usually placed among the general populace of Willova to identify spies, traitors and even dissenters. Carl was one of, if not, the best Beholder who’d ever lived. In youth, he’d succeeded in countless missions and erased thousands of faces from the earth. In his 40s, Carl helped create and practised desensitisation. He was one of nine Beholders in recorded history to have ever invoked the right of full rest, a special privilege that was given to only the most worthy Beholders when they deemed themselves to be unfit to work in the field any longer. Not even the best Beholders could simply retire, however. They were merely reassigned into a more “comfortable” position. In Carl’s case, he’d been assigned to a customs post. Here he could still serve the government, but his life was less at risk. All of those achievements, but his heart was still a void.

What should he feel? Guilt or perhaps pride? He’d damned more people than he could count and he’d rescued more than he could count. But he felt nothing as he damned. And he felt nothing as he rescued. What was the right feeling? There was so much behind him, so much he’d been through, but it would seem that he’d desensitised himself to both pain and joy. Then... what was left?

William noticed Carl's sigh and, to break the silence, asked:

“Something on your mind?”

“I... wonder how many days I have left,” Carl said with a grim tone.

“Hey, don’t be so pessimistic, you’re still alive now, aren’t you?”.

“Yeah... I sure am...” Carl said as if exhausted, “You are too, William. You’re alive, and you have to live your life to the fullest and-”

“Ha...” William interrupted him, “Living ours lives to the fullest? What an awful cliché...”

“Ahaha, you told me not to be pessimistic, but it seems that you’re much more pessimistic than me!” Carl said, laughing.

“And where did you think I got that pessimistic attitude from?” William responded jestingly.

“Haha, I guess we’re both two grim, pessimistic fucks together, ain’t we?” They both laughed as they walked on with arms over each other’s shoulders.

“Hope is left”, a voice rang out in Carl’s mind. It was William’s voice. “Yeah... hope is left, I should live by my words and look forward, not back.” Carl thought as his mind eased and ceased to wander.

Both of them were bound towards the same future, but they were hopeful nonetheless. It would only be a few more years until the skies were painted and the earth was scorched.

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