The Game
"Keep it till' I'm back will ya?" he said. Opening my clenched fist, he grabbed a box of Chutes and Ladders and handed it to me. And that was the last time that I saw my father, I still remember that day exactly as if it was yesterday. When he vanished off my life like some kind of rocket ascending to the sky leaving the earth.
Chutes and Ladders. Long before that, papa told me that he was going to buy me that board game in a store beside our house when he has money. Every Christmas, I was longing for that game when I opened my present. Every single year. Socks, a pair of boots and a photo frame. Only that. "Maybe it isn't just my year," I told myself as I wiped off my tears. And that was all before that snowy and stormy night at the train station back in Tribeca.
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General Roderick. Yes, that's my father and I am proud to have him as part of my life. People told me that he was a mad man. Killing the innocent just because he was told to do so. Well, he often told me that life is a game. You've got to fight hard to the top. And if there's a short-cut to get to the heavens, you must take the stairs to reach there. I guess he grew up the hard way. Everyone knew that from all his tattoos and scars when he opened his shirt. They made them wonder what has papa gone through. No one knows.
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When I went home from the not-so-friendly train station, I clutched the game on my chest as I battled the cold weather to my grandmother's house. I sighed and limped by all those beggars beseeching for warmth at night. Maybe they just haven't got number six on their dice or maybe they landed on a mine and it brought them back to where they were before. It's peculiar, I know. I forcefully made myself ignore them and continued walking. I soon arrived at my grandma's and entered her grimy apartment. She was on the couch drinking booze and watching her favourite TV show not caring just a few seconds to look at me. I sighed and put the box of memories on my blue fold-in desk.
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This world had thought me a lot of things. Sometimes you've got to take what others have to win. Their chances, family or even their lives. My father often said that my grandma no longer has the will to keep up with all those fighters and warriors because she lived long enough to know that there are others who are willing to do everything to earn anything for themselves. And I? I have that fighting spirit to take back what was mine. I wish I could. But what if luck isn't just on my side? What if the ladder becomes unclimbable when I reach there?
I never know. I never know what was out there buried inside this deep, dark world.
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Those were the times when I felt like life played me. They took away everything that I had. My family, hope and even myself, my own identity. I thought that I've had enough of it. Enough of everything. Time passed by and every single day was the same. My heart was numb of all the melancholic times I felt alone down in the corner of my room.
When my grandmother died, I clenched my fist beside her graveyard and swear that one day I will take revenge to those who steal the happiness away from my soul like a thief. I looked at the sky and say a short line of blaspheme full of tears to the One who is said to control it all. He should've known. He should've felt what I felt. Life isn't fair. Life isn't fair at all. But I learned that I need to accept things as it is and go on with my life. And there, hang my past running along with it.
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The sound of the megaphone blurred my mind. I climbed down the bunk of my bed and grabbed my SA80. Sprinting to the training ground, my comrades joined me for the regular morning run. It was still fresh in my memories of how I used to jog with my father every single morning right when the sun rises in the east. As we ran, we talked about our life and mom.
Papa told me that she was beautiful. Her eyes had the shades of grey and it projects colours of the rainbow-like a prism. Her warm ginger hair flows like the waves and sparkles like the sands of the ocean. Before I was even there, papa and my mom used to run together too. Papa said she used to tell him to keep on running. Don't stop even if there are others in front of you. Keep on running without looking back. Keep on running! Keep on rolling the dice like how you should. She would be a great mom if she didn't run away from the reality that hits her life. Right? I sighed.
And here I am back into the training ground. Grasping my breath, I walked to the barracks and packed up my gear for the afternoon training. I clutched my duffle bag and walked to the jet when suddenly the sergeant tapped on my shoulder and told me to go to his office. I clenched my fist and drew my bag close to me as I followed him.
I knew from the very start. He was not a regular man. Not just a sergeant but something else, I feel it. Behind his thick moustache and kinky hair, hid something that he would never want to reveal. But I knew, I knew that this day would come. The day where he will tell me the truth about everything. You see, I can't still find it very clear about my family. Particularly about papa.
I used to trust the sergeant like a father, a companion who would be there at all times. But now? Not so much after I saw the picture nailed down to the wall above his working desk with a brown frame. And there, engraved the word "World War II: 1 September 1945" with the picture of papa on the left side of the brigade smiling with his uniform on. Every time I saw that picture, it triggers a part of my memories that I hid deep in my heart and sworn to never reveal until the moment comes.
Before entering his office, I excused myself to the toilet and let my breath out. My scalp was sweating and my hands were trembling. Turning the faucet on, I rinsed my face and take look at the mirror. There lies a man with a scar on his eyes and curly brown hair. A man with a rather melancholic life.
I wiped off my face and trudged to the office through the empty, narrow hallway. My footsteps echo towards the door and I hesitantly turned the doorknob.
The sergeant stood behind his working chair and caressed the picture on the wall. I felt my whole body grew pale from the toes of my feet to my head. "Your father told me that you've got to take what others have to win, so I did," he smirked. "Guess you've realized it now. Didn't you? It isn't easy to get to this place, Captain Asher." At that moment of confirmation, my heart suddenly felt sick. I couldn't breathe and see clearly what was ahead of me. When suddenly everything's blurry.
I pulled the hammer of my gun and point it to him. He looked at me straight in the eyes and remained calm surprisingly. My hand was shaking from all the hatred and fury that I've kept for so long and my mind was paralyzed of every single trauma that night caused me. That night, that night cost me my life and his. That night cost me my childhood and my humanity. Right at that night, I lost everything. I felt my teardrops running down my cheek.
I sighed. Lowering my gun, I stared at him and slammed the door behind me. "BANG!" A sense of fleeting regret filled my heart as I made my way outside, the corridor fell silent and my vision darkened. I lost the game.