hope you enjoy it though! (:
a paper crane
Part 1
They had come. My heart froze for a second.
And then I caught up with reality.
I quickly grabbed the photo, and a neatly-crafted piece of origami from the table. Other than those two items and the element of time, everything in this old shack would have no more value to me. They were approaching nearer with every heart-quaking second. I had to hide.
In my best effort to secure myself, I lay there, motionless. The sweat didn’t help. I looked at the two items in my hands. The paper model of the crane looked as beautiful as ever, and I tried my best not to spoil it with the sweat beads in my hands. The crack of broken wood rang in my ears, more traumatising than when I first heard the soft pounding of bomb shells a few months ago. The sounds of hurried footsteps and tongues speaking in Japanese were presented. The Grim Reaper’s greeting. The sound of metal clunked as they presumably, took all my stores of food away.
My location was not to be spared. The unlocked door was slammed open, followed by half a dozen of legs clad in a yellowish khaki material. Wardrobes fell onto the floor, each deafening crash making ripples in my heart.
And as the mattress was lifted off the finely-carved wooden structure, light spilled onto me. And I was exposed. As I closed my eyes, my heart froze in time, and all sound faded. I ignored the chances and odds, held the simple reed cross that was tied to my neck, and prayed like never before.
My eyes opened, and the light was gone. My shock overpowered my happiness. Had he not realised? My hope grew, only to be smothered again when the above mattress was once again lifted up, this time not in their hope to find goods. But me.
The man clad in a different uniform slyly grinned down at me. He did not have flaps hanging next to his ears, and he had on a different headgear. His smile then faded, and he shouted something at a nearby soldier. I identified him as the one who had first lifted up the mattress. He then turned to face me, and shouted something I could in my best efforts, not identify by knowledge, but by inference. I slowly crawled out, and bowed in insincere respect. The seemingly superior officer pulled me up by my hair, and more instructions were barked. Shortly after, I found myself as an oddity in a group of Japanese soldiers. My hands were tightly tied behind my back with rope. I was brought onto a truck with them, and was roughly tossed onto the ground like an inanimate object. I had not the slightest clue what they were going to do to me. But as the engine of the vehicle sinisterly chuckled, my depression lightened as I remembered the photo and paper crane I had hastily stuffed, but with great care, into my pocket before I was found.
At least I had those.
The truck stopped, and I was brought out, into an atmosphere of sheer dullness. The concrete-based compound was bordered with similar trucks, and lines of Chinese men were slowly filing out. Out of the blue, a flour bag was tossed on top of me, completely covering my head and neck, resting limply on my shoulders. Holes were present for me to see and breathe though. I could not understand why I was to be alone, and not along with the countless files of other Chinese men.
I had not known then.
I had not known then of their purposes.
I had not known then of my use to them. I had not known then that that bag around my head was my protection from humiliation.
I had not known then that that bad around my head was the fuel of my disgrace.
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And then I caught up with reality.
I quickly grabbed the photo, and a neatly-crafted piece of origami from the table. Other than those two items and the element of time, everything in this old shack would have no more value to me. They were approaching nearer with every heart-quaking second. I had to hide.
In my best effort to secure myself, I lay there, motionless. The sweat didn’t help. I looked at the two items in my hands. The paper model of the crane looked as beautiful as ever, and I tried my best not to spoil it with the sweat beads in my hands. The crack of broken wood rang in my ears, more traumatising than when I first heard the soft pounding of bomb shells a few months ago. The sounds of hurried footsteps and tongues speaking in Japanese were presented. The Grim Reaper’s greeting. The sound of metal clunked as they presumably, took all my stores of food away.
My location was not to be spared. The unlocked door was slammed open, followed by half a dozen of legs clad in a yellowish khaki material. Wardrobes fell onto the floor, each deafening crash making ripples in my heart.
And as the mattress was lifted off the finely-carved wooden structure, light spilled onto me. And I was exposed. As I closed my eyes, my heart froze in time, and all sound faded. I ignored the chances and odds, held the simple reed cross that was tied to my neck, and prayed like never before.
My eyes opened, and the light was gone. My shock overpowered my happiness. Had he not realised? My hope grew, only to be smothered again when the above mattress was once again lifted up, this time not in their hope to find goods. But me.
The man clad in a different uniform slyly grinned down at me. He did not have flaps hanging next to his ears, and he had on a different headgear. His smile then faded, and he shouted something at a nearby soldier. I identified him as the one who had first lifted up the mattress. He then turned to face me, and shouted something I could in my best efforts, not identify by knowledge, but by inference. I slowly crawled out, and bowed in insincere respect. The seemingly superior officer pulled me up by my hair, and more instructions were barked. Shortly after, I found myself as an oddity in a group of Japanese soldiers. My hands were tightly tied behind my back with rope. I was brought onto a truck with them, and was roughly tossed onto the ground like an inanimate object. I had not the slightest clue what they were going to do to me. But as the engine of the vehicle sinisterly chuckled, my depression lightened as I remembered the photo and paper crane I had hastily stuffed, but with great care, into my pocket before I was found.
At least I had those.
The truck stopped, and I was brought out, into an atmosphere of sheer dullness. The concrete-based compound was bordered with similar trucks, and lines of Chinese men were slowly filing out. Out of the blue, a flour bag was tossed on top of me, completely covering my head and neck, resting limply on my shoulders. Holes were present for me to see and breathe though. I could not understand why I was to be alone, and not along with the countless files of other Chinese men.
I had not known then.
I had not known then of their purposes.
I had not known then of my use to them. I had not known then that that bag around my head was my protection from humiliation.
I had not known then that that bad around my head was the fuel of my disgrace.
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Part 2
I was still there. The bag was never taken off my head. Only when I took that ever-seldom bath, and when I caught that precious pinch of rest every night. It had been three months, and it had felt like my lifetime’s worth. I was never knowing what to feel. Only knowing what to do.
And that morning would have been no different.
I woke up at 5.35am.
No bath, no change of clothes that day. There were no extra clothes anyway. The only attire that was ever shifted on and off my body was a brown flour bag, that had gotten mouldy and more grim-looking with the rain’s encouragement.
They were not on patrol yet. Feathers on my feet, I crept to the wood plank at the corner of the room. I lifted it, my stomach flipping. And I took out the treasures of my life. He was so young then. I wondered where he was now. How did he look like? I tried to imagine.
And the only thing he left with me has not been easy to keep in best condition. The crane was crumpled and creased, over its months of sweat and hopeless repair. It’s head could be barely seen; at least what was left of it. What used to be a faint pink crisp material had become soft, and well-rubbed with dirt.
Footsteps and shouting. My heart took a freefall. The corridor lights flickered on after I threw the board back down. A figure of fear stepped in and curtly shouted a phrase of Japanese. Hearing it every morning, I inferred that it meant, “Get into gear, and get down to your job.”
A depressing odour filled my head as my world’s lights were limited to two small holes. Routine took place. I heaved down the grey sullen steps, with the commander pushing me with no hint of compassion from behind.
Soon enough, the lines of men appeared over the pale blue horizon, giving my heart the same regretful feeling. They halted in unison, as if there was a barrier that the limit of my current sight could not see. One by one, they were pushed in front of me. Each face, each man, had been conditioned in my eyes as one and the same.
They’re all a deck of cards. The first and second cards drawn are bad. The third would be the one shot down. My sense of justice was The-Third-Apple-Was-Always-Unripe. I had not any sense of righteousness in my mind. I used to break down at the thought of what happened to those I chose at random. Now, it didn’t matter anymore.
Not until time froze, and noise shivered away. The Ace of Spades flicked in front of me. The picture’s background grew increasingly blur, was this really him? I looked at his right ear. My pupils narrowed. That scar was unmistakable. His nose and mouth were streaked with dry crimson, and his forehead was dust grey. His eyes were steady, brave. “Torment” was not in his vocabulary, as he stared into my unknown eyes. Because if he knew, those narrow suspenseful eyes would broaden. And I would see the life I once knew in him.
Part 3I was still there. The bag was never taken off my head. Only when I took that ever-seldom bath, and when I caught that precious pinch of rest every night. It had been three months, and it had felt like my lifetime’s worth. I was never knowing what to feel. Only knowing what to do.
And that morning would have been no different.
I woke up at 5.35am.
No bath, no change of clothes that day. There were no extra clothes anyway. The only attire that was ever shifted on and off my body was a brown flour bag, that had gotten mouldy and more grim-looking with the rain’s encouragement.
They were not on patrol yet. Feathers on my feet, I crept to the wood plank at the corner of the room. I lifted it, my stomach flipping. And I took out the treasures of my life. He was so young then. I wondered where he was now. How did he look like? I tried to imagine.
And the only thing he left with me has not been easy to keep in best condition. The crane was crumpled and creased, over its months of sweat and hopeless repair. It’s head could be barely seen; at least what was left of it. What used to be a faint pink crisp material had become soft, and well-rubbed with dirt.
Footsteps and shouting. My heart took a freefall. The corridor lights flickered on after I threw the board back down. A figure of fear stepped in and curtly shouted a phrase of Japanese. Hearing it every morning, I inferred that it meant, “Get into gear, and get down to your job.”
A depressing odour filled my head as my world’s lights were limited to two small holes. Routine took place. I heaved down the grey sullen steps, with the commander pushing me with no hint of compassion from behind.
Soon enough, the lines of men appeared over the pale blue horizon, giving my heart the same regretful feeling. They halted in unison, as if there was a barrier that the limit of my current sight could not see. One by one, they were pushed in front of me. Each face, each man, had been conditioned in my eyes as one and the same.
They’re all a deck of cards. The first and second cards drawn are bad. The third would be the one shot down. My sense of justice was The-Third-Apple-Was-Always-Unripe. I had not any sense of righteousness in my mind. I used to break down at the thought of what happened to those I chose at random. Now, it didn’t matter anymore.
Not until time froze, and noise shivered away. The Ace of Spades flicked in front of me. The picture’s background grew increasingly blur, was this really him? I looked at his right ear. My pupils narrowed. That scar was unmistakable. His nose and mouth were streaked with dry crimson, and his forehead was dust grey. His eyes were steady, brave. “Torment” was not in his vocabulary, as he stared into my unknown eyes. Because if he knew, those narrow suspenseful eyes would broaden. And I would see the life I once knew in him.
I breathed. This was the third card. This was the Ace of Spades. The gears in my mind back winded, and it seemed as if the universe was sucking in on me. The chances were 33%, why must it be now? The stars were falling and no one else was affected by this sudden central apocalypse.
And then my mind broke its shackles. The suction of the universe slowed to a stop, and reversed its play, shooting out of central. I had a rush of energy, and I felt like I was energized by all the darkness that had willed me to summon it. My hands could crush the universe to powder. I was a god. Nothing could stop me.
I swung the bag off my face. Humiliation could not reach a god. Humiliation would not care to a god. I grabbed the nearest officer, only to find my face smashing into the dirt. I could not care. I flailed and kicked, and the shouts were nothing but mere babies’ noise to me.
No, I won't let this happen.
I hit the dirt again. Only this time, it was grainy, rougher dirt. I looked up for a split second, and then was shoved in the back, an action that only pushed me forward. Blood trickled down the right side of my face, as the vision of the waves grew closer. They were so calm. So calm, yet so deadly.
I looked to my right, and there he was. I smiled; the calm after the storm. He could not smile back, but in my worst of hope, turned away. I knew that in the mixture of sweat, blood and dirt, there were tears. Tears not of regret, not of sorrow, but of disappointment.
We stopped, and the soft subtle crash of the waves calmed me. I had nothing to be afraid of.
Faraway, the Japanese were unloading some heavy chunks of unidentified metal from the truck, and placing them in a linear pattern about 50 metres off. I had already known what they were. Men began to crouch behind the hunks of metal, and the last few hunks were assembling.
“What’s that you’ve got in your hands?” The Ace of Spades turned to me and questioned in spite.
“Not much that would concern you,” I said, and opened my cupped hands, revealing the photo and paper crane inside.
And I saw him start to cry again. I looked at him with love, and he looked back at me with crystal eyes. This would be the last time I saw this Ace. This crystal. My one and only son.
And then, one by one they began to fall. The dominos ladder came up till it hit him. I only heard his cries, my eyes being closed in preparation. But there was no impact. I opened them two seconds later, first I saw the blood of my son staining the ocean, and then I looked up to see the black chunk being filled with pellets.
I cupped my two hands and drew them up to my heart. I closed my eyes once again, but that couldn’t stop the tears from coming. I felt nothing, but fell to the ground.
Not now… don’t miss me now. Out of all the times I had to survive, why now? Out of the corner of my eyes, I checked my condition. My elbow had been smeared by a bullet. I looked straight. And saw his eyes for the fourth time. They were open and blank.
But in it flashed a twinge of happiness. Which was all that mattered to me anymore.
As a shadow fell over me, my face lifted to meet the enemy. He pointed his gun to me, tipped with an intimidating metal, but just another harmless helper.
“You can make me serve you. You can make me your prisoner.”
I grabbed his gun.
“But you can never take away my heart. I am free.”
I drove it deep into my darkness.
My head fell. There was no pain. The paper crane was freckled crimson, and was slowly drifted off by the waves. Drifting, drifting…like the light of my mind, until nothing existed.
I am free.
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