Writing Prompt

July 25th, 2017

A large goal I hope to fulfill through this blog is to refine and strengthen my writing skills, both in style and creative content. Creativity. What a buzzword. Either way, fiction writing forces us to think differently, to play pretend again, and to craft alternate worlds for ourselves (sometimes, to live in when our own world is less than fulfilling). This won’t be long, but I start slow and accelerate fast.

The first writing prompt I want to play around with was submitted to r/WritingPrompts by u/MetalShina.

“You live in a world where your soulmate is unable to hurt you, intentionally or otherwise. You are fighting in a war, when one of the enemy’s knives harmlessly glances off you” 

There were only 5 men left in the 10 man militia I had come with. The resistance forces were dwindling, and the Republic fleets knew it. It was no surprise that the Republic would win the Great War; the real surprise was that the resistance was able to drag the war on for 2 years. Our men were fathers, brothers, and husbands who stepped away from their families and gathered the weaponry they could to devote their lives to our Western Resistance. The Republic, on the other hand, had technology unheard of by us country men. I still remember our first battle, when our measly group fought hard against the jets, tanks, and advanced tech the Republic had been secretly harboring (paid for, of course, by the high taxes the leaders had stolen from the outer villages). Now, 2 years later, many of my friends had died, much of my optimism had left me, and I knew going in this would be my last time on the battlefield. But it was the battle. We had been planning it. We were going to take the Capitol.

Perched behind a small grouping of trees and shrubs sat me and my four comrades. We were all preparing ourselves in different ways. Shorfum and Wil were whispering to each other, silently planning their strategies. Amy was silent, but her eyes were deadly, scanning past the greenery to the pretentious white building 500 feet away from our current shelter. Shell was rubbing the pendant his soulmate had given him. I looked around. All these people had so much more to lose than I did. They were all connected to another: they had met their soulmates. Shorfum and Wil had met as young boys and knew right away. Amy had met her soulmate in Korea when she was 19. And while I did not know how Shell had met his soulmate, many spoke of their seemingly mystical connection, being able to send their protection each other through physical objects. I had gone through almost 24 years of life without meeting mine, a rarity in a time when most people dedicated their late teens to traveling the world, looking for their soulmate. In the Western villages it had almost become a necessity to find your soulmate: Republic whistleblowers were everywhere, and allowing yourself a person to trust completely that wasn’t tied to you was rare, and risky. Your soulmate could never hurt you or cause you any harm, and in a time when hurt was the prevalent theme in our lives, everyone took all the security they could get. I knew people whispered about me, about how maybe my soulmate didn’t exist. Either way, in this moment, I felt alone.

My attention returned to the task ahead of me: securing the Capitol. I looked at my militiamen and gave them a meaningful nod. Slowly, we started creeping up further and further towards the Capitol, taking one second solaces in safe spots along the way. At the steps, I motioned to my men to take out the guards silently, which they did with an elegant swipe of their blades. Our plan was to break into the main hall of the royal family who ruled the Republic and kill each member of the monarch, avoiding direct combat. We ran quickly towards the main hall, but I paused.

“Wil,” I called, “it’s empty in here. No guards, no officials, no politicians in session.”

Wil glanced back at me, a look of horror descended onto his face. His whisper rang through the empty marble halls. “They know.”

At that moment, a sickly sweet voice played through the speakers of the building. A giggle, followed by a declaration. “Of course we do.”

That voice. Did I know it? It sent a warm shiver through me. The five of us backed into each other slowly, standing guard, knees bent, eyes open, weapons at the ready, each staring into a different corner of the great wide area we were in. We could hear light steps, almost as if feet were dancing on the marble floors around us. Amy saw her first. General Naga. The mastermind behind the Republic army for the past 2 months–a new, young general, but a general all the same. The room suddenly felt warmer. Safe, even. As soon as she entered my line of sight I looked up, finally noticing a sly sniper in the upper floor window, disguised in black attire, barely visible even when you knew he was there. I stepped out of the circle my comrades and I had made with our backs. I took three steps out, looking down the entire time, my black boots in deep contrast with the marbled tile below them. I set my rifle down in front of me and kneeled. My deep voice, gravelly from my years of smoking, filled the room.

“General Naga, I presume. I am Lieutenant Wan of the Western Villages. This is my militia, and my men. Take me, not them.”

Naga looked me up and down. She was shorter than I imagined, but built like a tree, with wide hips and a grounded stance. Her voice was sweet, sticky almost. She smiled at me. “Selfless; maybe not humble, but definitely selfless.”

She nodded at the sniper above us, and then looked at Amy, Wil, Shorfun and Shell.

“You may go.”

Before leaving, they all looked at me with uncertainty and fear in their eyes, but I simply nodded and echoed Naga’s last word. “Go.”

Once they had left I got off of my left knee, with my rifle still on the ground. Standing up, I felt Naga shift her stance. I wanted to ask how she knew of our plans. I wanted to know who in our town was the whistleblower. I wanted to know a lot. But instead, I stayed silent.

“Your plans to invade the Republic were shortsighted, but as a military leader, I respect your efforts. It is sad that someone who knows the ways of war as well as you do must be sacrificed like this. The Republic could have used your knowledge and instinct. What a waste.”

She called up to the sniper. “Heroshi, please come down. Do the honors.” The sniper, who I now realized was a woman, jumped off the upper floor bridge and landed onto the marble floor near us with grace. Her black bodysuit covered most of her face, and her hair was tied back in a tight bun. The gun was slung behind her back. General Naga nodded towards Heroshi and stepped back.

I sunk to my knees again and braced myself for the fatal shot I knew was coming. Did death hurt? I hadn’t felt fear often during this war, but in this moment it resonated through my body. Heroshi stepped closer to me and put the gun to my forehead. I could feel the cold metal barrel on my temple. I heard the shot. Yet, I didn’t feel the pain. A small ‘ping’ against my head felt like a piece of straw brushing against my skin. I opened my eyes and looked up, straight into Heroshi’s wide eyes. She shot again, but this time I didn’t flinch as the bullet bounced off my skin easily and clattered onto the ground.

My soulmate. My eyes connected with Heroshi’s, and the warmth of the room finally felt meaningful. The feeling of safety I had earlier was not an illusion. A grin took over my face. My gaze reached that of General Naga’s, who look perplexed, still not having put together why Heroshi’s gun did not work on me. As I picked my rifle up off the floor, there was a moment of understanding. Her eyes grew wide and she lunged towards Heroshi’s gun.

“Too late,” I whispered to myself.

I shot.

The end.