Two

The knock at the door cut off Emilie's call that dinner was ready. Her voice stopping, a puzzled look engulfing each of our faces. I stood, making my way toward the front door. Once the door was open, a man wearing a tan uniform and chasseur cap, both emblazoned with the Lotharien Militia sigil, blared an announcement loud enough for the whole street to hear, an announcement that would soon make me wish I had kept the door shut and pretended we weren't home.

"Jonothan L. Larson," the military man began, "by order of Lord Roosevelt Downs of the Lirault throne and Commander in Chief of the Lirault Militia, you have been drafted, along with 250 others, into the Lirault War of Attrition, at odds against the Supreme Soldiers in glory and honor, in protection of your family and everyone you love, for claiming of land for many purposes, and to the greater good of the city of Lirault. Should you choose to resist, desert, or purposefully become discharged, you will be punished, likely by death. Pack your bags, the draft is effective immediately."

My eyes remained fixed on the military man, utterly silent as he spoke, and silent still well after he was finished. My head was swimming with what if's and what about's. He raised his eyebrows in an expectant authority and reminded me to pack my bags, but I barely heard him over the beating of my own heart inside my head.

I slowly turned to look Emilie in the eyes, desperately trying to convey my utmost sympathies, but all I could focus on was the solitary, lonely tear of grief trickling its was down her full, round cheeks. All I could feel was an overwhelming rage that filled me until I burst, screaming startlingly suddenly at the military man to leave us alone. I turned again to Emilie, my features softening as I turned my gaze upon her. Her face was wetter now as she watched me quickly degrade into a man I was not.

She knew me as a reserved, shy man, quiet in every way, never raising my voice, always gentle and soft. Instead of sympathy, I saw fear in her eyes. She watched as I let loose something that had hidden inside of me since I was young. A rage that I hadn't let boil over since I was a small child. Emilie watched as it crawled its way out from the depths of my mind and bare its teeth.

The military man had become impatient, now forcefully ordering me to pack my bags. I turned to face him once more and gave a hard no. He stopped, blinked in slight surprise, although his eyebrows didn't lift for a second, the waved his hand back at a figure waiting in the darkness of dusk. I didn't even think to close the door before three more men were intruding into the privacy of our small home.

I started to run toward the back door. I heard exclamations of things like 'he's getting away' and 'don't let him escape', and one of them grabbed my ankle, pulling me to the floor. Before I could register what was happening, I was on my back, one man putting me in a chokehold, another pinning my legs together and on the floor, and a third coming at my thigh with a large needle. I tried to do anything to escape their grip, but both the men's biceps were the size of apples, and I was basically a twig.

I vaguely heard the first man who had shown up coercing Emilie into packing bags for me as the needle plunged into my thigh. I cried out, but all soon fell into darkness as I felt my muscles loosen and two men carry me away. I caught a glimpse of Emilie's face, wet with tears and sympathetic as two of the men carried me out the door, my feet dragging on the ground.