"Hymns Of Sorrow"

Title 1: "Rebela"

She held up the flower with tempting hands and inhaled its fumes with rising anticipation. A sweet savory smell poured into her nostrils pleasing every sense of self she could muster. She looked at the flower; eyes staring with wide pupils. The sunlight poured into her eyes and got lost in the abyss the pupil's darkness. She could feel the rush of blood around her heart. She gazed upon its white membrane like petals that danced around purple branch like stems protruding from the center and held it gently around its green stem. The flower resonated within her hand, as if pleased to be there. She smiled, the features of her face not reaching up to her eyes, as she put back the flower on the ground. What was wondrous was the fact that among the debris of a brutal and cold war, the "rebela" remained unharmed. It was a beautiful flower, unlike any she had ever seen and yet she wondered if she deserved its name.

Slowly, she treaded into the forest ahead. It was ruined and almost burnt to cinders and yet some greenery remained; the relic of a forgotten past. It had been here completely intact just yesterday, but why did it feel like it was centuries ago? Her nose picked up the smell of rotting corpses and it destroyed the remnants of the fragrance of the rebela. She tried her best to ignore the corpses lying around and head deeper towards the forest. But each time her leg stepped on something remotely watery and flesh-like, her insides hurled in disgust and she fell to her knees, sobbing. With much determination, she reached deeper into the forest and finally found familiarity. She followed the stone slab path until she reached the well surrounded by countless tress even after the war. What was meant to stay would stay. She reached down her bucket and rope and started collecting water. Maybe this will get them through one more day. Until they were ready to run or fight; all options tethering to the same end.

With bloodshot eyes she turned around, brandishing here small pocket knife, panting slightly and scared out of her wits. But she stood her ground, shoveling her legs deep into the muddy ground. Her father might've said something about avoiding that but when did she ever listen? The bushes in front of her moved again but this time ever so slightly. Was she compromised? Surrounded? Without a second thought, she imperatively rushed into the bush flinging her knife frantically, like a fish out the water. She stumbled, hitting solid ground face first as a warm and sturdy body braced her fall, its blood still spiraling out of control. She held her breath for ten second as she took account of the situation. Did he fight in the battle? For us?-"Us". With a deep breath, she gently pulled him up to her shoulders, took her water bucket and strode slowly out of the forest. The grey sky was slowly transforming to pink as the ashes from the battle floated through the horizon and the sun emerged from deep beneath the clouds only to sink under the hills in a short while. It would've been a pleasant afternoon she thought bitterly.

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Title 2: "Hymns Of Sorrow"

The stray arrow hovered in the air in slow motion and the deafening sounds around him narrowed into his eardrums, buzzing like bees in a hive. It was weird, the persistent serenity that clogged his mind in the midst of burning buildings. This peculiar peace was his salvation; at least momentarily. As time stopped its flow like water in a dam, he looked around the landscape in-front of him. How long had it been since he had the comfort and warmth of a home? How long until he could escape what started this? He held his breath, with squinted eyes as the arrow punctured his stomach, seething into his inside with a searing rage. There was no escape, not for him. And yet, he knew that if he lost consciousness, it was over. He couldn't let it be over, he wouldn't. Regardless, his eyes gave in as the light rays graciously avoided his retinas. He drifted off into limbo.

Silence plagued his mind; for the first time. Slowly his ears came to life and picked up this slow sorrowful tune that rang throughout his mind as if resonating through his body. His body agitated as if rejecting the tunes, he tried his heart and soul to make it stop, to get up. With loud groan he fell back onto a soft wool bed. He opened his eyes, ever so slightly, as moisture seeped into them and the dryness faded. He inhaled fresh air, free from debris of war.

Looking around the room he was in, he saw a woman sitting on a stool with a holding an instrument. She softly tugged at its strings as the sunrise behind her spread its pearly ray around her raven hair covering her in a golden aura. He lay there watching, momentarily glazed and stunned by her beauty. The pain around his chest rose.

"Oh, you're awake?" she said slowly looking at him lolling her head. Suddenly, her pupils widened. "Oh! You're awake!" she screamed excitedly as they ran out the room yelling, "Father! He's awake!" Stephen heard several falling plates and a loud scream, possibly of another woman, as the raven haired lady seemed to have hit something on her way to her father. "You clumsy fool! We're in the middle of a war-". "Honey, its fine she didn't mean to do it-" the father's grunting voice soared. Rebela's tone flared up with a strain, "I'm sorry!" Her father laughed slightly. "Honey, breakfast?" Arthur spoke. "Ready Arthur," replied the wife. A convicted look stole upon Arthur as he strode into the bedroom where he lay. Stephen slowly rised and sat upright. Looking at the man named Arthur he squinted his eyes in pain. The raven haired lady rushed forward but Arthur raised a hand to stop her.

"Rebela, step back. What's your name?" Arthur asked.

"Stephen Kalsringer," Stephen said, his brows shooting upwards. His grey eyes contorted, as if they were scared.

"You poor bastard," said Arthur with a dismayed look,as he lowered his hand, "Rebe, bring some water. I'm sure you're thirsty? I heard it was a harsh battle. So many of the city's defenders dead. They'll be coming for the village in two days. You can leave tomorrow with the women and children or you can fight. I wont force you to fight but I think you know what I'd want you to do."

Stephen thanked Rebela as she returned with the water. He drank it slowly, savoring every drop. His stomach throbbed still but he was stronger than before.

"How many men does the village have?" asked Stephen, looking around his room for the first time. He took in all the things it had to show him.

"About a hundred are willing to fight."

"Not a very small village is it then?"

Arthur laughed, "No, it's not. We've been here for centuries. Our ancestors, my grandfathers we all were breed in this soil. This goes for everyone in the village who isn't a visitor. We cannot leave it unprotected," he said suddenly flaring up in anger.

Stephen's brows furrowed. He bit back an impatient sound.

"The army has more than a thousand soldiers," Stephen persisted. He felt his throat dry, even through the comfort of water. He felt guilty. He had no place here. He strode that out of his mind. But try he might, he couldn't. That's why he hated kindness. It was like a parasite.

"No one us care if we all have to die, in the name of protecting our homeland," Arthur started.

"Dying in the name of the home land? What good is that going to do your wife and daughter? Who cares if this village is destroyed as long as you're alive? You'll die a hero's death but your family will mourn you forever. Dying has no place in protection," Stephen stopped for second as Arthur struck him a strained and pained look.

"They'll learn to live without me." Arthur said.

"Do they want to?" Stephen said his eyes fixed on Arthur. Something in the hard expression of the old man changed. His muscles relaxed and his eyes twitched.

"Again, they will learn to."

Stephen chanced a glance at Rebela. She stood with her face at the window, the sunlight leaning across her pale face and reflecting off her tears. She wasn't facing her father. She looked painfully broken and beautiful in that moment. Stephen betrayed his thoughts.

"Very well, I have no say. Do as you wish. I'll see what I can do."

Rebela looked at the man in-front of her with a peculiar feeling in her chest. He was fighting 'her' father for the sake of a family he's never known. Something about Stephen's determined eyes as he told his father to back off from sacrificing his life made Rebela appreciate her strange guest more. She looked at his features more closely.

Rebela flushed red. It was no time to be thinking things like this. But he was gorgeous, almost with a womanly pretty face and a masculine body. She looked at his grey-white hair with fascination. It was intoxicating. Intruding herself from her trance she strode out of the room with her father, who look strained. She wondered if his words got to him. She wondered would he finally listen to mother. She wondered how they were so close together yet whenever she looked into her eyes it was like she was falling down a bottomless pit.

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Stephen slowly opened his eyes to find himself in the room again. It hadn't been a dream. His chest hung heavy with pain. Gradually, he got out of bed and went to the window. The house was up on a small plateau and the entire village could be observed below. He let out a slight sigh. "Hamilton," he read on the village name sign post. It was beautiful with mountains surrounding its interior from all dangers as the sky poured light from above. He looked up at the starry night sky and his eyes were delighted to see a screen of green float above the horizon. It danced in its pearly shine as the stars twinkled to rejoice the beauty. It was a beautiful sight and the raven night sky reminded him of that girl. She was a beauty even the nobles would be jealous of, her name transcending every noble woman. Stephen wondered how they even dared to name their child after the holy flower. Although, being a remote village has its opportunities. His eyes wandered towards the forest that would've been his death bed if not for Rebela. He look at those burnt trees with strained eyes. They must've looked beautiful when in full bloom.

"You're up early," came a voice behind him. It was the raven haired girl.

"Rebela isn't it?" Stephen asked smiling. She nodded.

"You should call me Hairnet. Rebela really isn't a-"

"Rebela is a beautiful name," Stephen said before he could think, "A beautiful flower too. If you look out the window towards the forest," Stephen pointed out the window, "you can see a bunch of them grouped together. I can almost smell them from here."

"You can see that far?" asked Rebela, hey eyes darting to the window with a slightly gaped mouth.

"You can't?" asked Stephen, as if surprised. She nodded her head to say no. He threw her an amused look, "Neither can I. I saw them last I was there," Realization struck Rebela. She giggled.

"Why are you here?" asked Stephen.

"Checking on you?" she implied softly. She closed onto where he was and stood by him by the window.

"That's...great, I was getting lonely." he said smiling.

"Oh you were barely awake," she said, rolling her eyes.

"And you look like you barely slept," he said.

Rebela was shocked for a moment and then she realized what gave it away. She gently rubbed her eyes under which circles ran, the area darker than her normal skin. She didn't answer him.

"So what's life in the village like?" Stephen asked her.

"Oh, pretty much what you would normally expect. Boring," she finished with a smile.

"Boring? That's weird, I swear all the village girls always tell me about how 'beautiful' the place is"

"Oh, I don't live here. I went to study in the Capital's University when I was eighteen and moved to the Bones City after my course. It was a hectic two years before the course. Unfortunately, two days after moving to the city the war started. Father brought me here until things cool down. But now the village isn't safe. We're going to Sundar Valley tomorrow to my relatives and Father stays," she said, her voice trailing away at the end of the sentence. Red flushed her cheeks, while her fists clenched.

"You got accepted to the university?" Stephen said almost impressed, "The capital, you don't look or speak like them."

"If that's an insult-"

"Oh! No! I hate capital people, it was a compliment. Anyway, Sundar is a beautiful place. It'll suit you" finished Stephen with a smile.

Rebela blushed redder and prayed to God he didn't notice. But, Stephen looked out of the window once again, his pale grey eyes shining.

"Where are you from-"

"From the capital," said Stephen, "it's a miserable place now with all the army gatherings and civil disputes. Not safe for anyone without citizen-permission. Even so, daily rebel attacks don't increase the beauty of the city, if there was any to begin with, it's definitely gone now." Rebela stayed silent. She never saw the horrors of war up-front and her heart broke for the young boy in-front of her. He had so much taken away from him, including his youth and his eyes spoke it all. In an attempt to comfort him she held his hand and squeezed it to let him know that she sympathized. Stephen was taken aback. Her hand was warm-so warm and...soft. He let her hold on. But his body had a mind of his own. Stephen grabbed her waist, leaned in and drew Rebela closer, their lips only inches away. She stood there, eyes open, transfixed in his embrace as warmth poured into her body and she grew numb. Closing her eyes, she waited the for kiss and let the warmth fill her body. Suddenly they broke contact, as Stephen shot her an apologetic look. Rebela was now a brighter red even under the veil of darkness the night brought.

"I'm sorry I don't usually just- It was so sudden I didn't mean to-"

"No, I-It's fi-"she turned red unable to speak. Stephen smiled.

Rebela stared in awe of how boyish and beautiful him smile was. The way his muscles cracked around his cheeks; cheeks that bulged almost like a bee sting. An adorable bee sting.

"When I was brought here, where did you keep my soldier uniform?"he asked, even though his heart throbbed as if it would explode any moment. Rebela pointed to the cupboard in the room.

"No, one's touched it?" Rebela shook her head. Stephen smiled, this times his muscles didn't reach up to his cheeks. He flung back the hair from her face and slowly spoke, "You should go to bed. You have a long and painful day tomorrow." Rebela nodded and he watched her close the door behind him. Slowly he tread back to his bed and picked up the glass shard he had broken of the window and cut his hand. Blood dripped like a faucet of water. He stared at the blood and winced in pain, making sure to feel every bit of it. He sobbed softly as he drift off into an uncomfortable sleep. His ears picked up the slow tune of the famous church hymns of sorrow. Is that what Rebela had been playing in the morning?

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Dawn broke with birds chirping with panic. Stephen heard several shouts come from around the village. The army was here already? Stephen quickly got out of bed, ignoring the throb in his stomach and put on his uniform once more. Unholstering his pistol (which he was glad was still there) he tread out of the room into the house kitchen. He never understood how big the house really was until now. He saw Arthur and another villager, probably a blacksmith by the looks of it standing at the table discussing fighting tactics in rough voices. Rebela stood by her mother at the stove and sobbed softly. Stephen's eyes shone with tears but he would not let himself go. It was his duty, his salvation and his oath. He slowly picked up the pistol.

"Son, are you fit to fight? We need every person-"

Without a word, no hesitation Stephen shot Arthur in the head. Changing aim he shot the blacksmith as the women screamed in terror. A plethora of thoughts charged into Stephen's mind but guilt was the one he tried to suppress the hardest. The woman finally noticed the "Imperial badge" on his uniform and realized "who" they had aided and saved from death. Stephen knew what he had done but he also knew that it was what he must do. Guilt plagued his mind, aching his senses as grief struck its course with every blow of pain's hammer he lost a bit of his humanity. "For the King," he replayed in his mind softly. The hymns of sorrow, spoke of a story of betrayal from kindness. It was the oldest recited hymn in the church and Stephen's most hated. "Kindness is a disease," Stephen said with conviction, as he stepped out of the home in bullet speed and into the sunshine.