Benjamin Randall

Multimedia Freelancer

Web Developer - 3D Artist

Visual Artisan - Writer

Fragments Gallery

Lost Journey: The War

"Do you understand now?" asks the man, his face craggy and unforgiving in the half light of the room.

Mouth agape I slowly nod. Something had finally clicked in the last rotation and the meaning behind the memories had become clear.

“Responsibility,” I murmur.

That's what the man had wanted me to see in the memories of the cross and the car and the memories of the captain and his soldiers.

"Good," says the man slowly, a smile flickering across his face, "That is progress."

Turning away from you he steps out of the lights, after a moment I hear his voice speaking behind my back, another voice replies. I try to turn around to get a glimpse of the other speaker but the chair is too restricting. With a grimace I settle down and wait for the man to once more enter my line of sight.

It doesn't take him long to return.

"Alright, since you understand we can continue. This time we're are going to play one memory for you, while you are in that memory you will only remember the memories and experiences of the individual whom you are joining as you relive the memory. Make sense?"

I open my jaws to respond that no it does not make sense but he leaves no time for me to answer.

"Good, we shall continue then. Best of luck to you," With that he gestures to someone behind me, and moving in close he whispers something for my ears only, "Let’s get this done quicker this time."

He pats me on the shoulder and backs out of the light. I close my eyes. Through my eyelids I see a bright flash of light.

Opening my eyes I find myself walking down a beach, I've been walking along this narrow stretch of sand for several days now, following up on a lead from a local village. Many years ago my son left for war. His mother had died the year before he left, taken by a plague that had swept our village. He'd felt that he had no reason left to stay in the village. So he left. When he never returned I left to look for him.

My cloak flapped in the briny wind but I paid it no mind. After a while one came to ignore the chilled, damp air. I eased the bow and quiver strapped to my back, readjusting their positions as I continued to walk. Something cracks in the wind up ahead; the sound came from just over a nearby dune. I quietly draw the bow and, nocking an arrow in the string, I climb up the dune.

The beach in front of me is littered with bodies. The only movement come from a tattered banner attached to the end of a spear sticking up out of the ground, the banner snaps as the wind grabs hold of it, creating the cracking sound that I'd heard before. My eyes widen at the sheer number of unclaimed bodies. Bodies that had been left to rot on the beach.

Carefully I walk down the dune and choosing a body I kneel down. This soldier took a belly wound and then, by the blood on the sand around the soldier, bled out. A tear slides down my face. This war is such a waste of life. This soldier, this boy, was someone's child, perhaps they were out there somewhere searching for their lost son.

Just like I was.

If they were, their trail could someday lead them here to this beach, where they could discover the truth. Their son was dead. If decay had claimed his body by that time then they may never know.

I can only hope that my story will be different, that my son is still alive.

Pushing these thoughts aside I reach out and rest my trembling hand on the soldier's forehead. I close my eyes as I close his staring orbs.

I wander the field for a while, searching for that one familiar face and I breathe a breath of relief as I look down at the last body. My son is not here.

My time spent searching the battlefield had not been a waste though. I'd noticed two very important facts. This battle had been less than a week ago by the condition of the bodies, and the soldiers here were all wearing the same colours as the army my son had joined. One way or another I was getting close.

Turning away from the beach I move inland. I had to find some of the locals. I had to find out which direction the army had gone after this battle.

I was getting close.

The nearby ground starts to glow; I notice this but don't react. The glow grows, soon it is blinding. I blink against the light.

As my eyelids slide up I realize that I'm no longer on the beach. Once more I find myself sitting in a chair in a dark room. The memory of the battle scene is already beginning to fade.

"Do you understand? Relax this is real," It's the man again; "I need you to tell me if you understand."

Uncomprehending I stare at him, what could he have wanted me to see in that memory?

"Very well," he says. His tone betrays his dissatisfaction. Raising his eyes from mine he calls out to someone behind me, "Start it again."

The lights grow again. I close my eyes against the intense glare and when I open them I find myself walking down a beach; I've been walking along this narrow stretch of sand for several days now, following up on a lead from a local village. Many years ago my son left for war…