The Brook

War has always been an 'everyday' possibility, as has Peace but sometimes an everyday thing can be one of the worst.

The conflict has been the norm for generations- seldom remain of the time before when the height of excitement wasn’t getting a non-fatal wound rather than one that killed. Not all are sure that’s a good thing anymore. Those who were born before this all started are now withered by age, hardened by circumstance and broken from trauma. Feeling safe, a proper childhood and dreaming in bed are all moments of the past and stories for children to enjoy. There is still a glimmer of hope, but the sparkles are going out and many think it’s now inevitable that even the concept of it will fade away: it doesn’t stop them from fighting though.

Almost everyone has gotten involved somehow- it may not be by fighting, anyone under twelve can’t go into battle- turning the newest generations into fighters, bound together by a cause to cause the opposition more harm. Those under twelve will learn critical fighting skills and survival ones, including their side’s unique codes to be a better soldier. Once twelve they go off to war, joining the growing pile of bodies and staining their hands with blood, believing that this is all life has to offer up. Nearly everyone is a murderer, a cold blooded killer, but one remains who embodies hope and the small chance of the end of violence.

The last safe place was small yet beautiful, the person there silent worrying that he may ruin the quiet calm which had taken too long to find. A brook runs through the glade, water crystal and like a mirror, water lilies abundant on the surface. He felt like crying from joy: it had been far too long since he had seen beauty like this. Flowers had all but been wiped out with all the bombs that had been dropped before. Trees surrounded him like a cocoon or nest, shielding him from all the fighting going on in the distance. The grass, which had grown long in the absence of people, tickles his feet and calves, its soft texture a relief from the heated concrete and sharp scarring gravel. Light filters greenly through the leaves, shining onto his hair and into his eyes, casting shadows from his long eyelashes.

He sat down under a tree, back pressed against the bark, bare feet dangling in the water. It was cold yet refreshing and made a change from the flames everyone created in their hope of killing those who opposed them. He was so tired, everyone continually beating him down and scoffing at the mere mention of him. Tears ran down cheeks, hitting his knees as they fell to the floor. He knew that, if this place was lost, his demise and fading would be inevitable. His thoughts were barely comforting anymore. He sighed softly, snow white hair catching on the wind, glad to be away from seeing all the blood and hearing the screams piercing the night. It hurt even more that there was nothing he could do: that duty fell on everyone else but they didn’t care to even try.

He still remembers the days before this started and the days which had led to this: the end of nuclear warfare. Yes, having nuclear weapons was a horrible necessity but it at least acted as a deterrent to prevent too many atrocities from occurring. Mere weeks after the last nuclear weapon was dissembled the assassinations began like hunting season on animals. Too many were enraged and the war began, not gradually but suddenly. It has now been raging on for seventy-two years and shows no sign of stopping.

Peace trembles, pain shooting through his chest as distant bombs split buildings apart like eggs. Even from this distance he can still hear their screams and feel death crawling on his skin. A few drops of rain slid from a leaf, rippling the brook, distorting his reflection. He sighed- the buzz of animals chattering in their own language jumbling his thoughts along with the thoughts themselves, reminding him of how useless he is. He can’t do anything to stop it and no one else seems driven to try.

“PEACE!” he hears a voice bellow; he curls in on himself when realising the voice sounds very close. Go away. Leave me alone. Please. Go away. Go away. Please. He struggles to remain silent, not even moving in case the rustle of leaves give him away. The voice turns mocking. “Come out wherever you are.” Peace curls up even further, hands covering his mouth to stifle his breathing, which is becoming more and more rapid by the second.

A shadow looms above him, a cold aura surrounding him which freezes his bones, chills his blood and frosts his muscles.

“There you are, Peace,” they greet, no warmth on their voice, eyes flashing maliciously.

“War,” Peace says, quietly, voice threatening to be carried away by the breeze. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” War replies, a smirk curling his face, expression hardening at the weaker of the two. Peace does know- he is not an idiot, just hopeful- but it does not make him silently beg that he’s wrong. Flames roar in the near distance and he’s scared, so scared. Go away. I’ve done nothing to you. Thoughts, as useless as his futile actions these days. Large steel hands grip at his arms, cold grasp tightening to the point of pain. Peace whimpers but is shut up with a fist connecting with his cheek, filling his mouth with a coppery taste.

“You brought this on yourself you know,” War hisses, fist gripping at Peace’s hair and tossing him to the ground like a ragdoll. Peace bites back a cry of pain, staring up at War with a fearful gaze. “Always pretending you were better than everyone else and ruining my beautiful chaos. Not. Any. More.” Towards the end he starts kicking Peace between words, further beating him down and destroying him little by little.

“Stop…please,” Peace whispers, tears mixing with the soil underneath him. War merely laughs, shaking his head. Why? Why? Why? Asking ‘why’ never helps, especially on matters of human violence. It is simply inevitable that it’s resorted too.

“Please!” Peace repeats, desperately, whimpering as another hit slams into his chest.

“No,” War snarls, human violence further strengthening him as much as it crushes Peace little by little.“Stop? Why stop now when I am in control?”

“Why do this?” Peace whispers, choking out a sob as he feels another group fall. “What is the point of all this?”

War considers for a moment, dark eyes flashing hatefully, looking at the trembling figure in front of him.

“The point is victory,” War mutters. “You won’t win, Peace. Ultimately humanity will always spark me when they tire of your tediousness. And, soon, the last safe will fall.” Peace screws his eyes closed, tears escaping them even faster. Not long left. War is right, they tire of me and he will win.

He feels broken no longer scared. It’s inevitable, War will rise and he will fall. No one believes Peace will prevail and the last safe place is condemned to be another piece of War’s game. Another hit, kicks...it stings but he doesn’t react. What can he do but let War do what he wants? Peace is too weak to even lift his hands in a small protest and each time he blinks the time he spends with his eyes closed grows. The sounds of approaching tanks and jeeps grows louder and shouts of orders reach his ears. They have found the last safe place, the only hope now was that they’d leave it be. Of course humanity never do.

An explosion fills the air, singing the grass, burning the trees and turning the crystal water to a body of ash-filled liquid. Flowers die and the last safe place is filled with violence, safe no longer. Peace didn’t see it- as soon as the explosion and flames filled the air he was gone. The concept of Peace no longer has a chance to thrive in this world, he’s gone with the last safe place. A pretty place to die, he never sees this destroyed element.

“I told you, Peace,” War boasts, smirking down on his counterpart, eyebrows furrowing when he merits no response. He roughly shakes the slender arm then sits a foot into Peace’s side, not knowing about gentleness. Peace’s eyes remain glassy, unfocused and empty, staring into nothing with an eternal blankness.

“PEACE!” the bellow falls on deaf ears and finally War realises. He realises what he and humanity have done and, for once, feels fear. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare be gone!”

For War knows that, without Peace, he too will fall. Everyone will fall for the conflict definitely has no end now that the concept that brought hope has dried up. Humanity will hunt themselves to extinction and then War will no longer be able to thrive. Humanity have condemned their only salvation and with it themselves. No one cries at Peace’s passing, too busy fighting until they join him in the pile of broken hopes, dreams and bodies.