I shove the gun in my drawer. Years of instinct kick in. All those years of learning how to make a sound, on how to reveal nothing, on how to dull emotions, they come in use. This study room is my own private space. Very few people can barge in here. Still, an occasional newbie will do so, and then I often yell at them and they learn.

But to have someone here now?

Last I checked, this retirement center had not fired anyone and weren’t looking for new jobs.

However, the fuss I made about my gun certainly drew attention, but as a soldier they gave me the benefit of the doubt. That was over ten years ago. Certainly, they would have lowered their guard from that possibility. Then why have someone check on me now?

Still, one exceedingly morbid thought comes to mind:

At my age, I’m still capable of this much thinking. That’s quite a feat. Heh, is the Maker so cruel so as to keep my wits about me? Is that it? He is keeping me for as alive as possible in some sort of twisted game? That would make for an amusing tale.

But it’s not.

Since in that case, I would be the leading actor. Since in that case, He is controlling my fate or perhaps I never had any choice in the matter anyways. In any case, I’m suffering.

“Sir.” The loud clear voice rings across my ears. There’s a certain allure to it, a certain magnetism to it. It is certain.

And that is why I grit my teeth.

Those who are certain are not infallible. No, they only are convinced. The conviction in the voice is certainly astounding, especially in this day and age of faithlessness, but that only means they believe what they say. Such self-righteous idealism lead to demagoguery.

Seeing this, it takes a different tact. “I’m sorry. Did I offend you?”

Finally, I look up from the desk. I was staring at it. From their perspective, I’m surely strange, but I can easily chalk that up to PTSD. I look up from the desk. Of course, it’s a woman. The voice certainly had its masculine force to it, but there was also a soft female touch.

“I’m sorry.” Languid and plodding, this is my voice. “I was remembering something.” Compared to hers, I lack force and conviction, two things I lost in that war.

“What were you remembering?” Her eyes are sharp and piercing. She’s like a hawk waiting for the right moment to strike. Truly, to encounter such a forceful presence outside of the battlefield, it seems fate is not kind.

I point to the bookshelf to the side. “A book from my childhood.”

“Those eyes you had, they weren’t the glazed, muted presence of someone lost in the past.” She takes a step forward. Her figure comes more properly in view so that I may see. Her face is certainly beautiful. If I were younger, I’d certainly lust after her, but all manhood has long since withered away. “Men are all the same.” She reads my head and spits her words out with disgust.

Placing one wizened elbow on my desk and placing my chin on my hand, I lean forward. This girl fascinates me. “Of course, we are. Simple fools like us will live on the orders of a lover back home. It is our dignity to serve women.” At this I make a grim smile. “And it is also our misfortune to be at their whims.”

“An outdated view for an outdated man.”

“Forgive me. I am but an old soldier lost in the past. I cannot forget, for it always catches up to me.”

“Bullshit.” She slams her hands on the desk. Now, she is staring right in front of me and I can see her eyes. I can see the crimson in them. Flames of passion and justice engulf them. She’s oozing passion. A feisty youngster. I’m sure it’d be wonderful to crush her hopes and dreams. “Are you even listening?!”

Her voice brings me out of my reverie. “Yes?”

Abruptly, she leans over the desk, past my face, opens the drawer, and grabs my gun. As an old man, I can’t even resist. I can only watch the action in astonishment. I’m still staring at the now-empty drawer when I feel cold, hard metal pressed to my forehead. The gun safety clicks. This amusing series of events only makes me laugh. Oh yes! This is death, and with the gun in someone else’s hand, a great burden is lifted off my shoulders. I raise a week thumbs-up and smile.

But my apparent enthusiasm only creeps her out. “Dahell.” She shudders for a moment before regaining control. In that moment of hesitation, I swing my body forward to grab at the gun, hoping she shoots me in her panic, but I hear the sound of the safety clicking and she walks back. I drop onto my desk in defeat.

I pine for death but hope for someone else to pull the trigger.

This, I knew deep down, but I kept it there because it was a pointless desire. Having no one to ask and even if I did, to ask for assisted suicide? There’s a limit to requests.

While laying slumped on the desk, her voice calls out to me. “Oi. Have you ever wished you could rewind time?”

Misery shrouds me. I don’t give a response. Dwelling on my own defeat saps my energy away.

“Hey, do you wish you could rewind time?” she repeats the question again.

At her question, I sit straight in my chair and smile sardonically. “Do you wish to hear a story?”

“Huh?” My sudden question confuses her, but I continue:

“There was a man who had everything. He had all the riches in the world and money talks. Anything he desired, he could buy it at a price. Of course, it was costly but he was loaded. It didn’t matter. He had all this money and he spent it all, diving into his guilty pleasures day by day, night by night, but he always knew that he would ultimately go unfulfilled. Still, he clung to his money.”

“And what’s your point?”

“Even if I could rewind time I wouldn’t. I revel in my self-destruction because it’s only thing I have.”

Silence fills the room. I carefully examine the reaction of this girl. There is slight astonishment but mostly her eyes are smiling. Before too long, she’s stifling her laughter until she bursts into giggles. “You’re as crazy as the reports said!”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Reports, huh. I know I’m a soldier but our heroism goes untold. The people forget. They don’t remember what the war was like. They don’t remember just how painful it was. They don’t care. Already, they’re moving onto more important issues. But us soldiers, we never forget. So then. Who are you?”

“We are the ones who remember.” She’s still holding the gun but now it’s placed on her chest, a symbol. I remember guns over hearts.

Suddenly, I grin. “Oh, so you are them?”

“Yes, we are.” And she too grins back, as though we are two long-lost comrades who have finally found one another. “And we have a job for you, if you’re willing to pay the price.”

“What price is there to pay, if I have already given my soul?”

“Your body.”

“This old thing?” I laugh. “There’s nothing worth keeping. Give me another year or so and I’ll die. Maybe not physically but everything will break down, and then I’ll be even worse than the living. I’ll be a shell that is no longer a human being. Perhaps though, that is a mercy for me. Perhaps, I’ll be able to forget the shell of a man I am right now, and now the price sounds so cheap.”

“Quit mumbling about your dying. You can do that when you’ve been sucked dry of our purposes.”

“You radicalists never change. It’s always ‘manipulate others’, always ‘take advantage’ of others, and always ‘leave people to die.’” I fold my hands on the desk. “So what’s in it for me?”

“We can change the world.”

“How many times do you think I’ve heard that?” I retort. “My teachers and government persuaded me to be a soldier, and how do you think that ended up going? I’m lucky to make it with all my limbs intact! Nono, that far-fetched ideology of blind justice no longer appeals to me. You’re going to have to try harder.”

“Then, it’s very simple. Destruction.”

“Oh? And why offer me that?”

“You don’t want it?” She raises one eyebrow. “The reports speak otherwise. A damned old man who has been sentenced to this tiny little nursing home. Nobody else resides here even. You’re like a hermit in the woods and for what reason?” A twisted smile covers her face, the sort of smile of a sadist. “I know people who’ve done that. They come out of the ordeal, the isolated, self-pitying sniveling ordeal, broken. You’ve only made a few public appearances but quickly disappeared. The war destroyed you.” Somehow, her smile widens and distorts her lovely face. “We can build you up again, our beautiful weapon.”

“Weapon?”

“We have constructed a new home for you,” she replies, as though that would reduce my confusion.

“A new home?” I mockingly answer. “Are you insane? Where could a misanthrope such as myself find a home? I despise people from the bottom of my heart. I belong nowhere.”

“For an old man, you’re awfully chatty,” she snaps. “Just come with me, and we’ll offer you a chance for destruction. This old order of the world just needs to go and disappear. We have a greater vision and if that is irrelevant to you, well, you can always produce the terror you always wanted.”

“The terror I always wanted…” For a moment, I’m intrigued, and her lips slightly curl in victory. “As if.” I crush that blooming smile. “If I am to do what I wish, then that means doing it alone and unassisted. I refuse to serve others.”

“But you did plenty of that as a soldier.”

“That, I did, and I have had enough of boot-licking. Unless you give me what I desire, I won’t budge an inch.”

“Fine, I’ll persuade our leader to resign.” Another burst of passion flickers in her eyes like a wavering flame but it quickly burns bright. “You can become our leader.”

In that moment, I know I can believe her declaration. The eyes are the windows to the soul, after all. “Yes.”

“That was quick!” The instantaneous response catches her off guard. “What made you accept?” But she quickly regains composure.

“Does it matter ‘why?’ People can ask that question all they want all day long, but nobody really knows the answer. It changes from day to day, from mood to mood. For example, ‘Why were we sent to pointlessly die?’ ‘Why did they treat us so badly?’ ‘Why am I still alive?’ These questions repeat themselves endlessly but I have no answers. They’re always changing. I have no ‘why,’ only whimsy and as your leader, you can’t question it.”

“Yessir.” She salutes me.

“It’s disgusting how quickly you warm up to the idea.”

“What’s so disgusting for fighting in a cause you believe in?”

I flinch. Those eyes haunt me.

“Sir?” She notices. “Are you okay?” When I don’t bother to give a response, she just makes a grim smile. “Well, even if you’re traumatized, it’ll all disappear when we replace your body with a new one.”

“Replace my body? Ridiculous.” I smirk. The absurdity of such a suggestion dispels the fog I felt. “If we could do that, there’d be no point in living at all.”

“Of course not. That is why there are a few conditions.”

“Leave it to insurgents to fuck things up,” I quip back. “Are you sure you aren’t using me for an experiment? I’m near my expiration date and wish to die. Is that the reason you picked me?” I sneer. “If I’m to die, let me do it on my own terms. Dying for someone else disgusts me. I die for me, not for any cause, not for any person, not for any values; I die for myself.”

“You die for yourself?” She bristles at the notion, her eyes red with indignation. “That’s so disgusting and pitiful. You dying doesn’t mean anything to you because you’ll be dead. There can never be any meaning to dying for oneself. It’s impossible. The selfish shits who think that really should go and die.”

I point to the gun that she unconsciously gripped. “Then go ahead and do so.”

“Just as you despised being used by others, I am just the same. If you’re going to die for yourself, do it yourself. Don’t get others caught up in it or else you’ll them needlessly suffer for your own gain. That’s way more pathetic than anything else.”

“Give me the gun and I’ll do it. And quick at that!” I look at the time on the wall. There’s only ten more minutes until the caretaker comes to give me lunch.

“I’ll do better.” She smiles. “Sir, for the sake of the country, I am placing you under house arrest.”

One would expect a sudden act of violence to strike me. Instead, she walks slowly. It’s a mocking walk, knowing that there’s no way I could resist in the first place. I grit my teeth. Why is it always like this, dear Maker? I believed in you but you always treat me like shit. So tell me, why does this have to happen to me? Didn’t you have enough of harassing me? Or am I just your damned playtoy. The thought disgusts me but I can’t pursue it further. She’s right in front of me. A syringe is in her hand, probably a drug to knock me unconscious. I extend my arm make a self-mocking smile. I give up.

That is what I signal to her.

She nods and as to add insult to injury, her hand moves slowly. A wounded pride. I could try resisting but I would be digging my own grave. There’s no point to it. In the first place, I couldn’t even attempt it anyways. What a cruel world, dear Maker.

The needle pricks and stings.

Numbness rushes in, a numbness beyond the callousness I have felt in this nursery. I had killed my emotions; this drug annihilated my senses.

White space surrounds.

I lose each sense one by one.

First is sight and the whiteness disappears. Everything is blank. It is the total absence of everything, an alien and disturbing sensation.

But next is sound. The word becomes a vacuum and my fear amplifies. I can’t see or hear! That makes my touch so much more chilling. I can feel everything on my feet because I’ve lost sight and hearing.

Of course, I lose that too, and now I am so acutely aware of scents that I never thought that I could ever notice. The smell of fear is odious. My nose wrinkles in disgust and I gag on the taste but at least the smell disappears.

Bitter, astoundingly bitter, that is the taste of fear, slightly metallic like blood, supremely bitter as me. No, that’d be an understatement. This bitterness goes beyond the boundaries of human taste. I want to vomit but suddenly it disappears. Revulsion should fill me. It’s like having all the lights stop without reason. It should be jarring but I can’t even feel that.

I become lighter than air.

As the world ends and thought stalls, I could swear that I hear a voice that whispers--

It’s just beginning.

Automatically, I want to object. Everything has ended for me already. My life, my career, my hopes and dreams, they have all terminated in brilliant failure but I finally hit the upper limit. Even consciousness halts.