My End is My Beginning

Part One: HER

They part for him like the Red Sea.

We didn’t have to see him to know when he came, we just had to watch. As kids, hiding behind the cloth of a mother’s dress or peaking through the cracks of a toppled house. As adults, from rooftops where we could catch a better glimpse or through the barrel of a gun as we waited for a good shot.

We had been trying most of our lives to kill him.

I remember when it all started. Not the end of the world…no, that happened a long time ago. There are few people left that even remember it, and the ones who do are too tortured to tell the story. But that’s okay. I realized early on that the only thing that really matters is the present. I leave the past in it’s place. All I’ve ever known is what’s in front of me: survival. Stealing to eat, gambling for weapons, moving from one rundown building to the next. No mother or father to kiss me goodnight, not anymore. No one at all. There aren’t a lot of kids around for that reason…because when you’re young and there’s no one to protect you or feed you, dying becomes a whole lot easier. But I didn’t want to die. So every time I ran out of food, I stole more. When I was too tired to get up, I got up anyways. Life moved in a way that was repetitive and meaningless.

Until that night.

I was twelve when I first saw him. He appeared from the darkness, swathed in black, blade in hand. I was tucked away in an old fountain that hadn’t produced water in decades, trusting it to protect me from wandering drunks and rapists. It happened before. I learned my lesson. So there I lay, and it was my paranoia that made me aware of his presence.

I rose quietly, just enough to see him scale a wall effortlessly and drop out of sight. I shouldn’t have followed, but I did. I never really saw him again, just his shadow as he made his way into the last good house of the town and slit the throat of the man inside. Then he disappeared, same way as when he arrived – into the night. Silent and deadly.

I didn’t understand until the next morning.

Our country has been at war for so long. People grew used to the power thirsty, fear mongering warlords despite the constant ransacking of homes, burning of towns, and drafting of soldiers. It was just life. If you grew up in the rich districts or the towering city capital, then you wouldn’t understand the way this war has caused us to forget ourselves and give in to the idea that life will never be better than this. Only a few fight back, but it’s not enough. I believed there was nothing I could do, that all the fighting was in vain. No point in rebellion. The warlord that resided in my town had protected all of us for so long…why wouldn’t that continue?

But then he bled out that night, on the polished ground of his own home. His wives screaming for help and receiving none of it. He bled, and because he did, so did I. So did everyone. We bled as a wave of soldiers from the high district overwhelmed our town the following morning, slaughtering those who served our warlord…and those who didn’t. We all bled that day. The war had come to a head and we paid the price.

Somehow I was pulled from the fountain, thrown onto a horse. We fought our way out, me and my mystery rescuer. My rescuer who brought me to a camp in the foothills of the mountain. My rescuer the rebel. Suddenly there was nothing left but the fight. My fast track into the rebellion began.

At thirteen I threw my first grenade into a mass of soldiers. At fourteen I was sneaking into the city to spy on the high warlord. At fifteen I was running for my life as they bombed town after town. At sixteen I was manning a safe house for fellow rebels as our country was thrown back into chaos – a second apocalypse, this time created by our own wars.

Seventeen, and I am sitting by a window – shutters torn off, a small crowd gathering below. Dust on my cracked lips, and a fly that won’t leave me alone. But I sit in stillness as he makes his way through the crowd, his cloak billowing around him despite the absence of any wind. I watch him, just as I have watched him so many times since the day he killed the warlord.

I have watched as he has razed towns and murdered innocent people. Streets have run with blood because of him. He has single-handedly begun and ended wars. He began in the darkness, hidden from the world, and now he walks through this town as if he is to be held in fear. Darkness within light.

But my bullet will meet with him, this day, and the dark will see it’s end.

I touch the trigger; I breathe deep. I still can’t see his face, but the bullet can’t tell the difference. It will hit its mark nonetheless. He turns my way, his guards moving with him. The crowd is a mixture of beggars and rioters, but though I do not understand it, they still part for him. I take a deep breathe once more, knowing that this time, when I let it out, I will also pull the trigger. He will finally die.

But I don’t.

I don’t let it out. I don’t pull the trigger. I hear other rebels yelling at me to shoot before I lose my opportunity. But I can’t, because every other time I have faced him, I have never gotten this good of a look at him. But I see now, around his neck, something that forces me to slip my finger off the trigger. A locket. A crude, heart-shaped locket. Hand made. Rusted. Years of wear.

But still, every creator recognizes their creation.

Part Two: HIM

They part for me like the Red Sea.

I know why, of course. For I am chaos in human form; darkness in the shape of man.

If you were to ask a child about the apocalypse, they would tell you of a single catastrophic event that turned the world upside down. Half the world, destroyed. The other half caught up in an endless war. But that story is simply black and white. My ancestors story, however, lies within the gray area, just as truth does. The truth being that no apocalypse is ever just one event. Especially not this one. This one was hard-earned. This one took decades and generations of people to accomplish. We did succeed, though. We rid the world of half its population, tore down monuments, toppled governments.We began as lunatics; cults with wild, immoral ideas. But we gained ground. We paved a way. And eventually we carved and shaped the world into a clean slate – a place for new, fresh power to grow. Order within chaos. Peace amidst war.

People watched as tyrants became warlords, forming their own armies and quelling the weak. They fell into place or they died. They never had control and they never thought they did. The warlords were a different story. They always thought they had control, but they never did either. The warlords are in my hands. They decree wars at my command. They burn down homes at the raise of my hand. They quench the land of rebellion at the nod of my head. And they do so in the dark – like a blind soldier being led to battle. They were made for these wars, so they fight these wars, and they are so distracted by these wars that they do not pay attention to who guides them into these wars.

But one day, these wars will end.

The warlords will have served their purpose. The weak will fall, the strong will stand. The ravings of once mad men will become the foundation of a new future. That day is near. And so I find myself on the outskirts of the city, in a mostly torn down district full of angry people, desperate for peace. I watch their eyes as I make my way through. They know me by deed, not by name. I see the fear in them. I thrive because of it. I walk among them so they will never forget who it is that helped start the wars, and so they will always remember who will end them.

My steps falter though, as a glint of metal catches my attention from a window high above me. A sniper, no doubt. Many have tried to kill me. None have succeeded.

Before I can even move, the figure in the window lowers the gun. Then they disappear. But it’s only a moment before they appear again, rushing from behind the buildings cracked exterior, gun slung over their shoulder. I don’t know why I haven’t moved yet. I don’t know why I stay. But I do. I find myself gripping the locket at my throat, fear filling me for the first time in years as she comes into view and I see her fully. She walks with a slight limp. My soldiers begin to step in the way, but I shove them aside. Suddenly she’s only several feet in front of me. It surprises me, her youth. Long brown hair pulled back. Brown eyes and brown skin that blend in with her bleak surroundings. Desert all over, as if it were a part of her.

But still, every creator recognizes their creation.

Part Three: HER

I stare into the darkness.

His eyes used to be lighter. Kinder. But only for a while. Then she died, my mother. I was only five years old. I think it snapped him out of it. Pulled him back to who he was before her. Before me. Of course, I didn’t know it then. I was too little. Too unaware. But I know it now, as I look into those eyes. The same eyes of the man I’ve tried so many times to kill are the same eyes of the man I once called father. The man who abandoned me. The man who now dares to wear the locket I made for my mother. I often wondered if I’d be happy to see him again, if I’d run into his arms. I suppose now we know.

The anger in the crowd heightens as we stare each other down. I wait so long before making my decision. Then I walk up to him and put my arms around him, and my heart grows even colder as I feel him stiffen beneath me. I feel him try to relax, but he can’t. He stiffens once more as my blade, once hidden within my sleeve, now pierces his flesh and heart.

“I’ve heard your speeches,” I whisper harshly. “You talk of order and peace. But I’ve seen the death you leave in your wake. I’ve lived in the chaos you’ve wrought upon this earth. You think you’re their savior? You are no one’s savior. The only apocalypse you made that is worth anything…is me. I am your apocalypse, and your death is the catastrophic event that will change the world.”

I let go of him then and watch as he falls to the earth. I ignore the shouts all around me. I always focused on the present. I never even thought of my end. But now? I am the peasant girl from a broken place that has paved a new way. A better way.

I have found my end.

Part Four: HIM

I stare into the darkness.

I have found my end.

Part Five: HER

My end is my beginning.