Chances and Choices

Day 443, 11:01 • Published in Norway Hungary • by Quicksilver

Chances and Choices

The lone soldier stands on his post. He looks out to the endless vista, stretching in front of the watchtower. Winter’s frozen hand is clenching the ground, the icy wind plays lazily with the black, empty boughs – and with the cape of the soldier, who shudders from the sudden, cold gusts. Somewhere in the distance, shadows walk… they walk in long, uneven rows, the wind is making their shapes waver and indistinct, they are like tortured souls from our deepest nightmares, walking always and never finding a home…

They try to stop and make a stand but the wind, the frost, the winter always force them to march, they rebel but to no avail, they scream but winds steal their voices, they appeal but nobody hears it, they rage, but their efforts are quelled… made to be homeless, forced to be fugitives, deprived of any legal tools to fight, they readily took up whatever methods they could. The lone soldier watching them march, doesn’t want to judge them for it. He desperately hopes that time and fate would never force him to make those terrible choices - to have to choose between soul and survival…

They were pushed into this, like an infant is pushed into the world, in the flood of blood, screaming and kicking, squeezed by forces it doesn’t know about, into the cold, uncaring world that sees only its own good in it. They were given and they were taken, they were betrayed and they were shaken, they collected themselves and got friends, from whichever corner of the world or fate, but who agreed to help them, and they marched with grim determination and they took up weapons best left alone, but when choices are scant one must not complain, but to go and do and die if must.

Chances, they had. Choices, they made. Fought they have. Lost, and they endured. Hardy people, hardened by life and surrounded by enemies who wanted what was theirs… theirs for a little while, theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die, theirs as a gift and to them were given a short shrift… the wind drives them, hatred and contempt follows them, sins cling to their names and actions best left unsaid, deeds committed and terrible purposes… but if you look into your soul and seek some answers, you can only be glad for fate not to force you to make those choices….

The lonely soldier watches silently, ponders on great matters - why karma gives to one, and fate spares the other one? The wind gives no answer to that. There is no answer to that.

Just the wind.