The elderly woman laid down her tools, straightened her back as best she could, and tipped her rice hat fully off her head and let it slide down onto her back. The rough feeling of the strap on her throat was a welcome sort of discomfort after so many years of this routine.
She stepped out of the rice paddy onto firmer ground and started on her way back to her house, her back still bent noticeably.
“Heading in gran?”
“I believe so. I’m afraid my body just can’t keep up with the harvest anymore.”
The young man laughed while walking toward her, “You say that, but you’ll be out again tomorrow earlier than all of us.”
The man’s hard and muscled arm supported the elderly woman and raised her up a bit straighter. It was a comfort the old woman was happy to have. To have such a wonderful grandson is truly a blessing. The old woman’s wrinkled face formed a few more lines as her smile widened and a picture of happiness grew from her.
Her grandson talked for a few moments about the harvest, but he didn’t stay on topic very long. He started to go on about the woman he’d been talking to recently. Her beauty and her kindness and her laugh and her fiery soul. The boy was absolutely smitten. At this rate, a great grandchild may well be on the way.
The old woman felt such a beautiful warmth inside her. She felt truly sorry for those that must be suffering somewhere in exchange for her joy. Everything was surely in balance; the old woman was just thankful to have gotten so lucky in the end.
Her grandson continued to try to put words to his love, filling the air with the beautiful sounds of youthful bliss. The old woman breathed in the cool air that was rolling off the mountains above. It carried all the scents of nature that one could imagine, creating the sort of aroma one could become rich from selling.
But the old woman already felt so very rich.
The two continued walking up the path, surrounded on all sides by rice paddies ready for harvest.
Every dozen minutes or so a new group of neighbors would drop their work and come over to chat for a moment or two.
The old woman’s legs grew tired, but the pleasant conversation was well worth the bit of fatigue.
To think her village would grow so much from when she first arrived. So many new faces throughout the decades that had all now become cherished friends.
As the rice paddies came to an end they were replaced by homes of all types. Buildings made up of dirt and thatch were just as common as concrete blocks and renovated shipping containers; each one planted into the upward sloping hill.
The old woman felt a sudden weight on her leg and looked down into the smiling faces of a pair of twins.
“Gran! Gran!” they both shouted in unison, adding a wonderful new layer of sound to the picturesque scene.
It devolved into chaos as they each tried to talk over the other about their new secret hide out. The young mother was quick to approach and chastise the twins for bothering Gran (all the villagers seemed to call her Gran these days). The young mother had a small baby slung around her shoulders in a burlap cradle, nursing the child while trying to take care of the other two.
The mother was surely just as exhausted as those working on the harvest. The old woman smiled at the young mother and took the hands of the twins. She looked at them both very seriously and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “You two do know the most important part of a secret hide out, don’t you?”
Like a pair of birds they chirped their replies of ‘no’ and ‘what is it’.
The old woman broke into a smile, “Snacks.”
The two little bundles of energy erupted into a series of shouts of excitement and thanks. The old woman gave a knowing nod to the young mother and took the hand of the older twin while the older twin held onto the younger one, forming a little line.
The old woman knew everyone in the village, and she knew the younger of these two was attached at the hip to the older. They were adorable and she loved them both dearly.
She started to walk forward once more, the exhaustion in her legs becoming a bit too much for her to keep standing around, but the muscled arm of her grandson held her in place. She looked up into the face of the young man who had obviously let his mind drift during the recent exchange.
The young man was the picture of strength. Sharp lines on his face and ample courage in his eyes. He was so very similar to his father… to the old woman’s son. That similarity… it was the one thing in the old woman’s life that brought her just a tinge of sorrow.
“How’d he do it Gran?”
Ah, they were far too similar.
The old woman looked past the young man’s face and took a bit of solace in the clear blue sky. It was the sort of blue that goes hand in hand with Fall. The sort of blue that promised cooler days ahead.
The massive beast of metal half-buried in the soil soured the sight.
The old woman couldn’t remember who the invaders were. Some group of mercenaries? One of the old countries lashing out in their dying moments? Some new upstart hoping to make a land of their own? It hardly mattered. It seemed like someone else was always looking to bring war to her land. The people were used to it though, and time after time they proved that they would not give in. The old woman remembered some of the names of the old countries that had brought war in the past: the Americans, the Chinese, the French. Each one powerful, and very certain of their power, yet each one was beaten back.
The people of Vietnam were used to winning wars against giants. So when the MACs came, her people found ways to fight back.
The metal monsters may have been a new type of enemy back then, but that didn’t change what needed to be done. At the start of the war, they seemed almost invincible. But ultimately, they could be destroyed the same as anything else. Enough violent fury could kill anything. But that same violent fury led to the deaths of so many of her countrymen as they continued to resist… to fight.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
To win… at a cost… a high cost.
The old woman squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to stem the flow of those wretched memories, “Your father… he used that thing for the good of the people. We no longer need it. Let it sleep, please.” A few tears squeezed out from her eyelids. The droplets slowly tracing the patchwork of wrinkles that the years had engraved onto her face.
The young man squeezed her arm and apologized, “Let’s get you home Gran.”
Those things… those weapons of war had no more place here. The old countries were dead. The new countries were still struggling to build themselves up. The mercenaries had no interest in this land.
For the first time in so very long, this land felt truly peaceful. The old woman didn’t want to jinx that by reactivating the sleeping giant. She knew how… she let her son pilot the thing after all… and she was sure she would pay for that sin in the next life. But this life of hers was almost over, and she was more than happy to let it end like this: swaddled in warmth and happiness.
Her grandson brought her to the door of her house and waved as he walked back toward the fields.
The old woman reached her hand up to the well-worn door of the house that sat at the top of the hill that overlooked the village.
Her hand hovered over the door for a minute.
And then two.
The two little ones tugged at her raggedy harvest-clothes and echoed each other in their desire for snacks. But… the old woman’s hand would not move.
She turned away from the door and placed one hand on each child’s head, “Go on in, I’ll be right behind you.” The smile she had used with the children just before felt so foreign on her face now.
Was it seeing the MAC? Was it seeing that machine and remembering that war-torn time?
Ah, the old woman thought to herself, I’ve become a terribly spoiled woman.
She stood surrounded by so much happiness and let one bad memory ruin her mood. Truly, it was a spoiled act.
The door creaked slightly behind her as the children rushed inside. The old woman stared at the sky. She stared at the village. She stared out to the paddies. She stared at the tiny figures of people. People she loved dearly. People that loved her. She breathed in the day as deeply as she could, trying to fill up her entire being with the joy of the moment.
…
No joy came.
Ah, the old woman thought to herself once more, I’ve become a terribly spoiled woman.
The wind blew, the birds chirped, and the sun continued to shine. The old woman had all she could ever desire, didn’t she?
Perhaps, she thought, perhaps the smiles of the children will ease me.
The old woman pushed open the door to the silent house expecting to see the two little bundles of energy gnawing away at their snacks. Happily silent while they took in the joy of the old woman’s baking.
But the scene before her was very strange indeed. A blur of white light, blindingly bright, seemed to pass through her. She turned around as the light seemed to enter and leave her body on its way out the door.
The light was almost human-shaped, but not quite. It stood entirely still while it took in the view of the village.
The old woman rubbed her eyes, wondering if her vision was suddenly going bad. She tapped the figure on the shoulder and, to her surprise, felt something not quite as solid as a person.
Ah the being whispered into the deepest cavities of her brain, you must have spent time around my brothers and sisters. The effects we seem to have on you people are so very strange.
The blank face of white light certainly would have been staring at her if it had eyes. The old woman was sure of this.
She thought she should say something, but she couldn’t quite remember the words… she couldn’t quite remember any words.
Strange, she thought. Of course, the word ‘strange’ didn’t come to her, but the feeling, the general shape of the word, seemed to flash violently in her head over and over again.
A slowly growing light out of the corner of her eye grabbed her attention. It was as if her head had been yanked forcefully to the source, almost against her will.
The machine was there, still half-buried in dirt. Old and worn, with plenty of battle scars. The old woman never saw the point in repairing or maintaining the machine after her son had died fighting in it. To her, it had served its purpose. And, more importantly, to her it was a memory best left buried.
The old woman rubbed her eyes once more as she looked at the machine. Five similarly almost-human shapes of light were crawling all over it.
This one. The voice again seemed to snake its way into her own thoughts. This time, however, she felt like the words weren’t addressed to her at all.
The sky felt like it was shaking and flames seemed to pour down from above as a scorching chunk of metal seemed to crash into the Earth. It landed next to the half-buried MAC, sending a cloud of debris into the air around it and blotting out the entire sky above.
The picturesque scene of the village was suddenly tainted by the explosive force of this sky-born invader and the destruction it brought simply from existing.
The beings of light all pointed at the MAC while the machine from the sky poked a sharpened metal finger into it.
The chest of the machine… machine…
The old woman felt as if she had lost her mind.
The chest of the machine jumped as if suddenly filled with life. It heaved great breaths and made a sound like a scream as it crawled out from its shameful grave.
The old woman didn’t need to see anymore. She looked back to the village and the figure of light before her.
That will do, Jace. Now, the being was speaking to her once more, each word sinking deep into the old woman’s soul I can’t stop what’s going to happen next. Consider it like the weather I suppose: an unstoppable whim from an uncaring God. You and I? Simple creatures like us? We just have to put up with it. And now, the light before her opened ever so slightly. The form of a wretched smile, ghoulish in appearance spread across the face of the being, revealing a deep, dark, and foreboding void within. Yes, just like the weather.
From behind her came a few dozen streaks of light that stained the still debris-infested sky. Each one halting in mid-air and taking that almost-human shape. They then descended down, each one finding its landing spot right next to a villager. The young mother from before was close enough to see clearly. She stared not at the being of light that was pointing a solitary finger at her, but rather at the old woman herself and the massive machine that had crashed into the ground.
The old woman turned her back on the young mother and looked inside the house.
The children were no longer there.
Instead, two piles had formed on the floor, moving ever so slightly and making the tiniest hint of a noise as if they were living creatures.
Each pile was a rainbow of colors. Colors that seemed all too familiar.
The charcoal black of their hair.
The light brown of their eyes.
The verdant green of their clothes.
The dull white of their teeth.
The fleshy pink of their tongues.
The old woman looked back at the almost-human being of light in utter disbelief, “Is this… my punishment?” The words seemed nearly impossible to scrape out, both because of the effect of the monster on her mind and the growing horror of what she thought she was witnessing.
The being slid an elongated finger that burned like the sun deep into the old woman’s eye socket.
Punishment? How could it be? I know nothing about you after all.
The being turned away from the old woman and looked once more to the two MACs: one waking up and the other standing tall.
This is all… well… a by-product of realizing a dream.