Evin

A guest submission, written by David Clémenceau, and edited by A. Ni, one of our editors.

The feeling he would be the last to arrive, even though he would be early, stuck with him all day. He knew his gut had been right all along when he saw his friend in full gear waiting by his locker. Worried about making a fool of himself on his first day out of training, he jumped into his uniform and followed his friend through the block. An acid soup of eagerness and fear of the unforeseeable was curdling far down in his stomach while the two men walked briskly along the corridor. Their steps resonated between the blank walls. The air smelled rancid and ripe with mould and decay.

“There’s an emergency. You have to come quickly,” his friend said.

“What is it?”

“You have to see for yourself.”

He was tried to imagine what the emergency could be.

When they arrived at the cell, he could already glimpse the scene through the bars. He stopped dead, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

The boss was leaning with his heavy-set frame over a young dark-haired woman on a table. He held her tiny chin with one paw-like hand, spitting insults at her face. He was about to violate her. She thrashed her head from one side to the other with what little freedom of movement was left to her. Two brutes were holding her down by her thin bony arms while the boss made a boastful display of his parts.

The brutes’ savage press killed any attempt of hers to twist and wind herself free - and run away, far away from this. Two guards at the table to his left, near the cell door, were watching while they smoked and laughed.

He stood there stupefied, still grappling with the possible nature of the emergency. The voice next to him seemed so far away that he scarcely registered it.

“This is your first day initiation gift,” his friend said with a cheerful slap on the shoulder before he sat down at the table.

Now, all the men of the night shift were gathered inside the cell.

The woman clenched her bruised legs, writhing like a salmon in a net. She kicked the boss in his lower belly. He thrust a ferocious blow to her stomach in retaliation, followed by another salvo of insults. She gasped and lost consciousness, her resistance broken. Those big men had done it.

His mind was still trying to make sense of what he was witnessing when her body became limp and her legs dangled from the table. The boss pushed them up by the knees and got into position. The others cheered.

He looked from his superior to the cheering party and back again. His comrades were so engrossed in the act of barbarism they hadn’t even begun to realize what else was about to happen. For one second, she reminded him of his sister.

#

The system had been destroying itself for such a long time.

#

As though guided by an invisible hand, he unbuttoned his holster, took out his sidearm and aimed.

The first shot cut through the boss’ intention to further abuse his unconscious victim. The brute sagged lifeless onto the woman before he flopped to the ground. The two who had been holding her down suddenly let go. One clutched with both hands at his throat, the second stumbled backwards as if he’d been hit in the head with a hammer.

In one composed swing, he aimed at the trio at the table. Their surprise was such that they didn’t grasp the gravity of their situation until it was too late. His friend, the one to the left, the one to the right, they all saw their lives ended through their own violence.

He contemplated his work. Each body was leaking into its own viscous pool. And his eyes met hers. She was staring at him through her dishevelled hair. She was in shock.

In a clear, poised tone of voice he said, “Listen to me. I hope you can hear me because this is important. I have killed my comrades and I am going to shoot myself, too. There is no other way for me. If they catch me, they will torture me and eventually kill me anyway.”

She winced as she laboured into a sitting position and hugged her knees to her bare, bruised chest. Her eyes peered from under the shreds of dark hair which covered her face. She was listening.

“After that,” he said, “you will have two choices. You can try to flee. This has very little chance of success, even if you take more than one pistol, even if you have enough time to put on a uniform and dress as a guard. If they catch you, they will treat you worse than before. Your second choice is to put a gun to your head and decide when and how you go out. In either case, you don’t have much time.”

After a pause he added, “I’m sorry.”

He pressed the muzzle on his temple. His eyes locked within hers.

“Thank you.”

#

An elderly woman opened the door. She glared at the young soldier before her and went pale.

“N-Nasrin,” she stammered.

“Maman jun, you have to come, now. Everybody has to come out now. Now!”

“But-”

“It has begun, maman jun. They’re going down.”

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This piece is a guest submission written by David Clémenceau. David Clémenceau is of French and German origins and has an MA in translation. His work has been published in print and online in USA, UK, Canada, and India. His short stories can be found, among others, in Idle Ink, Tigershark Magazine, ActiveMuse, and Welter at University of Baltimore. He lives in Germany where he teaches secondary school English. He thinks and writes mostly in English and likes to read everything from Pratchett to Asimov.

Reach him on:

Twitter: @DavidCl3menceau

Instagram: dvd_42_dc_writer

This piece was edited by one of our editors, A. Ni.

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