Creative Portfolio

Darkened clouds hung overhead, as if they too were grieving over the destruction wrought beneath them. The skies crackled with lightning, splitting the overcast with brief flashes of brightness, illuminating the decimated terrain below. Light rain began to fall, washing away the blood and ash that decorated the swaths of concrete, but it wasn’t going to wash away the memories.

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Leather boots abruptly made contact with a puddle, as a cloaked figure paced across what was once an abandoned parking lot. His strides were monotonous, his gaze unwavering, as if he didn’t realize the crushing magnitude of the tragedies that had occurred just moments ago. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Eventually, his steps slowed as he approached his intended target: a man sat on a mound of rubble, his back turned to the newcomer. The general peered down at the man, who continued to stare at the dilapidated structures dotting the landscape. He waited for him to turn around and formally address his presence, as the badges on his jet-black cloak would typically illicit, but the man stayed facing the other direction.

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“So, how many this time?” the general prompted, deciding not to wait longer for some sort of acknowledgment.

 

The man sighed, his eyes locked on the horizon. “About four hundred, I’d say”.

 

He pressed further: “And their families?”

 

The man turned to face the general, his dark green trench coat sliding across the gravel, and their eyes finally lined up, his warm bronze meeting the general’s steely blue. “I don’t think that matters to you. I already gave you the number”.

 

General Towell studied his face, searching for any information that might be buried beneath his smug expression, but he found nothing. Soot and dirt caked every crevice on the man’s face, and raindrops rolled down his cheeks as if he was capable of producing tears. His once wavy hair was plastered onto the sides of his head, soft brown interrupted by streaks of ghostly white ash. The man shifted his rifle against his trench coat, making Towell flinch ever so slightly, his blink breaking the seemingly contested gaze-holding between the two.

 

Not being able to gage any information from the silence, the general glanced away. He looked at a wrecked hospital for a few seconds, before asking: “How is she-”

 

“She’s fine. They sent her up to the med-tent. Just a couple broken ribs or something”, the man replied, cutting off the rest of Towell’s question.

 

He nodded slightly in acknowledgement, trying to hide his wave of relief from the man. They continued to stare at the wreckages for a moment, before the general gulped, and stated: “Very well then, I will report back upstairs, and I’ll-”

 

“Notify me about the next blah blah blah. I know” The man muttered, turning back around away from him.

 

General Towell sighed in annoyance, then reluctantly turned his body and began marching back to where he came. His sturdy steps crunched the gravel and rubble beneath his feet as he strode across the wasteland, and after a few seconds, he disappeared.

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The man did not react whatsoever to the general’s exit, just as he had not reacted to his arrival. He continued to face the battlefield, his stare stronger than iron, looking thousands of feet into the distance and yet at nothing at all. Eventually, he slowly got up from his seated position, tiny pieces of rock tumbling off his coat and onto the ground. He grunted as he brushed himself off and picked up his rifle, taking deep breaths of the deathly cool air. Brian was the only sign of life within miles of this war-torn hellscape, but he blended in seamlessly with the crippled buildings surrounding him.

Just as this used to be a city, teeming with life and vibrance, he used to be a man, filled with hope and aspirations. His once soulful eyes glided across the landscape of cracked stone and shattered glass, an expression of quiet grieving permanently etched into his face.

 

This place had served its purpose, just like the countless ones before, as another setting where death told its story and soldiers accepted the ending. Brian knew that there would be many more just like this, as a broken world tried to achieve some semblance of peace through more bloodshed and more gravestones. Fate was coming, no matter how many more abandoned cities were annihilated or how many more men were robbed of a longer life in the name of a war. He was merely a tool, another weapon, made to lead more soldiers off of cliffs and into the abyss. His only value was in his experience of losing again and again, one of the only survivors of the onslaught of countless massacres.

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Brian’s radio came to life, as a woman’s voice began gargling on the other side of the line. “Hello? Brian? We need you. About 55 miles north of your current location, estimated contact time in about 90 minutes. You ready?”

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With a stone-cold grip on his rifle, Brian clicked his radio and replied: “Ready when you are”. Then, a soft beeping started, a sound that he had grown to dread. Nevertheless, he remained stoic, back straight, shoulders wide, and jaw clenched, serving as a role model to lead his soldiers to a valiant death. Brian peered into the distance with a look of false determination, and a couple moments later, he was gone.