Behind the blade and blood, War of the centuries

There was never a name.
A name would have made it too personal I think. Maybe they couldn’t handle that kind of thing, as though they ever could feel anything towards us. I always knew it was a farce, the fake empathy they showed us.
Then again, maybe we don’t deserve a name.
We’re already faceless…… all of us, every one with out a face! Some times I wonder what we look like, the rejects of the human race, but other times I know I don’t really want to know, to be reminded of just why they put us here in camps. Just why they shun us into darkness.
Some of them, the ones that talk say I am blessed without memory, that to remember the horrid childhood of those like us to live through hell, as though what we are living in now isn’t the same. I honestly don’t know. Be it a curse or a blessing, living every day with out memory of my past, makes me uneasy. Then again, every day living makes one uneasy too.
Last week, another one went. I think the guards make us watch as a sort of warning, to teach us to behave, less we end up like the unfortunate. I’ll behave, I’m too scared to do anything other than that! It happened during the third feeding hour. Number Z7005 had only just got in line when he started moaning in pain, his left arm looked out of place, as though it was broken in several places. I had stepped forward to lead him away, perhaps the healer in cell block 5 could mend his arm at least enough to get rid of the pain. To just our luck a set of five were taking patrol in the same sector, his loud moaning drawing their attention. I tried to silence him, but he threw me from his side with his good arm and started stumbling away, trying to blend into the crowed beside us. His fear of them matched my own. I stood routed to the spot, and closed my eyes, but they passed me by only to make their way directly to him. He howled incoherently as they pulled him from the crowed. I was to scared to say anything.
They pulled him onto a sort of plate and laid him out with a well placed blow to his injured arm. He was obviously trying to speak to them through his helmet, but his words were jargled and you couldn’t make them out. Instead the intended words flashed upon the screen of his helmet that covered his face.
“ PLEASE DON’T. PAIN. IN PAIN.” The guards nudged each other and if you could have seen their faces I’m sure they were smirking. The leader took from his side they riot stick he stepped forward and stepped on the mans arm, he started jerking oddly. I felt a shiver of fear inside my chest and sat silently on the bench behind me, watching, as all the others did. On the black helms of the guards, the final words, the ones we all dreaded, and in some cases welcomed, flashed.
“Disorder Is punishable” The red words flashed as a beacon, and the guard swung the riot stick down with such force the helmet front shattered and the mans face was bared to the chemical saturated air around them all.
I had always felt strange, like my stomach was bottoming out when ever I see one die. I often wonder if that’s what my face looks like under this helmet, this permanent part of my body. The white tissue, drawn taught and almost see through over jutting bones of the face. It was so disgusting, it looked like death. The eyes blinked rabidly at what little light was in the cell block, as though it burned into his very brain, eyes that had not seen light that bright in years. Every vein stood out clear on the semi-transparent skin of his face, and his mouth opened and closed rapidly like a fish out of water as his lungs filled to the brim with toxic air. Already his lungs were filling with water, and foam started forming at his mouth as his eyes turned a reddish color as every vein in his body started to burst. They rolled up in his head, but even after he had died, and many had walked off, his body still twitched. Finally after I had seen my fill a I walked away like the others had. What use is there to watch the dead?
That night we all laid in our cots, I don’t know about the others, but I thought about those blood filled eyes of number Z7005, and wondered when it was my time to breathe that air, the air of the death as they call it.
There never was a name, but at night when I dream I think maybe I hear some one calling to me, and they say this name, but I can never remember what it is, it flies off their tongues like so many leaves from a tree.
I roll over and look at my gloved hands, under them, under this suit is a body…… flesh and veins, hair and nerves, I wonder what air feels like, not this stale air that comes through our back packs, recycled from the outside. Is my skin melded with the suit? Will I be deathly white and disgusting underneath? I think I feel something like tears weeping from my eyes, that is the only way I know what wetness feels like, but oh well, I have the rest of my life to wonder about these things.
I laid still, my knees come up to my chest and I feel my body shudder as I will myself to sleep.

TBC


Next Chapter:

“LOOK! Are you Number 23G95?!” He hissed into my ear, something was metallic in his voice, his grip on my arm tightened, his whisper seemed all to urgent. I wasn’t sure when the guards would come back around so I hurried up and nodded my head, not allowing my self to think too long.
“ Then you’re with me.” He pulled us up and I could barely reach his shoulder, let alone keep up as he hefted the huge sword over his shoulder and we started down the deserted path way.
“ Where… where are you taking me?” My helmet flashed as my mind thought the words.” Hi own helmeted face looked back at me and I once again heard his voice. “ Out of here.”