. i am nothing .

I am nothing.

At least I am nothing to the people who gawk and cry as they see our troop march down endless streets. Demonstrating our power with the rifles leaning against our shoulders. Our faces frozen with the look of utter determination. No smiles and no smirks. Just blank faces following a straight path, surrounded by people who can barely look at us. I could feel the fear we breathed into their being as we grazed past them, their eyes wide with horror, wondering if they are next or not, hoping that it is someone else, wallowing in their own self-pity. But I’m off my subject.

We are nothing.

To the crowds we are nothing but that security that maintains order. Order and chaos. According to them we have no thoughts, no feelings. We are cruel and mindless. We follow orders. That is our life, that is our pleasure, but on a more personal note, it isn’t my pleasure. Far from it actually but unimportant. We are the SS. Soldiers of fortune and war whose only goal is to search, capture, and destroy. Nothing more. But is this all that we do? I shouldn’t even say “we” but when you’ve been in this service as long as I have your vocabulary begins to change, and for one brief second you forget who you are. Mindless…

I glance briefly at the scribbled writing in my hand, the ink slowly disappearing everytime I close my fingers over my palm. I know who the man is, his name written so unceremoniously on my palm. He is a rebel like all the rest. A filthy Demagorn to say the least. But tonight like every insueing night it becomes harder to face these outcasts. For the past month I’ve seemed to stop caring…..or maybe I’m caring too much.

“Captain, he is a threat to society.”

“I understand, sir.”

“There can be no mistakes. Blackthorn must be stopped and you can proceed any way you please. Just be sure you contain the situation”

“Yes, sir. Dead or alive.” May the Lord have mercy on his soul, if he has one.

I am nothing but a killer.

In sleek black pants and tank top I walk through busy streets lingering at every other club, listening to their maddening music. I mingle in and at the same time I don’t. I am not comfortable among the lower classes. I cannot see myself living every night at the clubs, the mad rush of people pushing and pulling up against me as they dance to the music. The intensity of a night gone crazy as the anxieties of the day disappear with the moon’s enshrouding light. The perfect hideout for those who go against the Velliats. A place where soldiers like me would never be, yet I am here. I breathe and hear them all around me. Trying to fit in as I spot my target. Attempting to concentrate only on him but distracted by everyone else.

The crowds seem to part as a little girl with bright, yellow pigtails crosses the street. A smile paints her face and everything suddenly seems to go by in slow motion. I stare at my target and then at the girl. See her running slowly towards him as his face brightens up. He catches her in his arms and I feel the cool, hard metal of my gun, gripping it from its hiding place behind my back. I hear my own heart pounding in my chest, as loud as stormy waves crashing up against jagged rocks, lethargic and uneven. He notices me and he knows. He can see it in my eyes as I point the gun at him. I seem to be living a dream. He holds his daughter close and I scream. A loud noise echo’s through the night.

I balance the gun in my hands as every movement I make returns to its normal speed. Staring at the ground my eyes move towards my target and I see yellow mixed with red. Both of them lying in death’s embrace. A perfect father and daughter except for one thing…..they are the enemy. I hear the crash of metal against stone as I fall to my knees.

I am nothing.

The following was previously seen on Carnaval and I thought it could stand on its own since it was the first post. For further adventures on Denise check out the 'procrastinator' forum. Copyright © 1999-2000 Yasmín E. Voglewede. All Rights Reserved