Imaginaries

Chapter Two: Forget-me-Not

Warmth.

That was the first thing unexpected. Heating, a blanket, and sunlight - all three were worlds away from the battlefield. I can hear footsteps and whispers, some near, some far, and the gently repeating tick of a wall-clock. My breaths no longer transform to clouds, and that is a very strange feeling - I had grown used to the pale vapour obscuring my vision. Now all I can see is a small room, plaster cracking and falling away from the walls, and the window giving way to a bright blue sky. I haven’t seen a blue sky in forever. I plant both hands into the bedsheets, and haul myself precariously up and out of the bed - my ankles are wobbly and shaking from ache. Dammit. I felt like a child learning to walk again, and the floorboards, wonky and creaking under my weight, are no help in my advance.

I reach the wall, and I am already out of breath. I look down and see my stomach bound in makeshift bandages, pinned here and there with salvaged clips. Poking it gently brings a shudder of pain, but apart from that, my movement is miraculously merciful.

And then I smell it.

Breakfast!

My stomach growls loudly, the scent of toast and the wonderful aroma of bacon too much to ignore. Compared to the rations of the barracks, this was paradise. I let my legs drag onward, continuing down the corridor as fast as my aching, wounded legs will carry me. I’m following my nose more than anything else, and the more conscious part of me seems to be worried I’ll follow it into a wall. The corridor seems eternal, each and every door identical - all of them curiously ajar, but none open enough to solve my passing curiosity.

I finally reach an open room, and I see five pairs of eyes turn to me - two green, one blue, and a strange and peculiar violet.

And a brown pair headed straight for me.

Before I know it, I’ve reached the floor again, my shoulder cracking painfully with the impact - but the pain fades, and I realise I am being pinned by a very small girl. She’s practically sitting on top of me, grinning and hugging me tightly. She’s one hell of a lot heavier than she looks...

I see a figure walk behind her, who lifts her off me without much effort. “Niki, Allyssa is still hurt. Be gentle.” Other hands push and pull and haul me to my feet, and with an experimental wobble, I somehow regain my balance.

“Sorry, Captain. Niki has been asking after you all week, wondering if you had woken up yet. It’s been a nightmare to keep her quiet.”

I blink in surprise, staring wide-eyed at the group before me. “A-All week? I’ve been asleep… a week?”

“Yep!” comes the reply to my left, and I turn - a cheery smile accompanies the proud glint of a Healer’s medallion. Her uniform is different to the red of the others, a lovely white outfit that filled me with a strange sense of reassurance. An inbuilt feeling, from training, I suppose. “Your wounds were very deep - it’s a miracle you survived long enough for them to get you here. You’re really one of a kind, Captain.” she smiles, and I return it. Without them, I’d have faded.

I straighten as best I can, my hand keeping me propped against the wall, and I scan the group that surrounds me. “What’s your battalion? Names? Ranks?”

They all salute hurriedly, some earlier than others. Niki takes a less-than-subtle nudge to realise, but salutes all the same, and I feel a swell of pride at the soldiers before me - I salute them as well. The ginger-haired young man replies first, his blue eyes shining in the light. Awe is quite visible in his expression, which is rather strange, as I’ve never once thought myself as particularly inspiring. “A-Acting Captain Kieryn Brighton, ma’am, Hawks Battalion. We’re in the Retrieval Division.” I shake his hand with a smile, before moving on to the next of the troops.

He is also sporting blue eyes, but his black hair falls around his shoulders, giving him an air of mystery. “Corporal Dann Brighton, ma’am.” He speaks confidently, quietly. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

“And to you, Corporal.” I reply, pretending not to notice as Dann elbows his brother in the side, a hissed “quit staring!” running to the air.

The next speaks up. “My name is Betha - I’m a Healer from the East Wall. This battalion was assigned to me when they brought you back into the City.” I voice my thanks, saluting her once again. I’ve always considered them brave, patrolling the Wall unarmed to help the wounded, even more so now I owe my life to them.

The tall man speaks last, with a collected, confident smile on his face. He has a gentle hand on Niki’s shoulder, who is grinning mischievously from mouse-like ear to ear. Her smile is endearing with a hint of a playful streak, and I cannot help but smile in return. “My name is Private Lucas Samuel, Captain, and this is Private Nikita West. We were new members of the Red Hawks Battalion when you were Retrieved, and it was certainly an interesting experience to get you over the Wall and back into the City. If there is anything you need, then, please, let me know.”

I nod, finally, and fall silent for a moment, staring at the floor. I can feel tears forming in my eyes, but I blink them away, and raise my head again. “Thank you, all of you. For everything you’ve done. For saving me.”

I feel small arms envelop my legs, with a head resting gently upon my stomach - I look down, and Niki has begun to hug me tight. As one steps forward to pull her away, I shake my head, hugging her in return with that familiar tenderness I gave up those twelve years ago. It felt like nothing had changed, like I had never joined the Wall Defenders, the endless days of the Blue Battalions but a faded memory.

“You have an award ceremony today, Captain. They now award special medals for Battalion survivors, ones who fought through to the very end and lived. It’s sadly rare nowadays.” Dann speaks quietly. “We were worried you wouldn’t wake up in time, if at all.”

I look up, as Betha continues. “You’ll need something formal for it, really, given it’s a major event… something quite simple… though I don’t have anything like that - and I doubt Niki will have anything that will fit you!” she smiles, as the tiny, youngest soldier grins up at me.

“My Dreamer could help there, actually. Elisa is around your height, Captain - I’m sure she could spare something. This building is the house of the family, so her room’s not far off. She’s out with a friend and his Imaginary, so I think she’s safe. Elisa won’t mind a dress going missing for the day, especially for Allyssa Marston herself.” Dann adds.

A low growl catches me by surprise, and all my senses spark into action, my hand dropping instinctively to a gun that is not there. I look around to see nothing out of the ordinary, which somehow scares me more, and I can feel panic drumming through my veins before I hear it rumble through the room once again-

“Nikita! Would you please have some breakfast before you scare the poor Captain to death…”

I give a sigh of relief as Niki bounces out of the room, a silent grin lighting up her face. The prospect of breakfast was still a welcome thought, and I felt my own stomach issue a sound of hunger to rival the young Imaginary.

“I think we all need breakfast at this rate!” Kieryn laughs, and everyone begins to move into the kitchen - I hesitate, until Dann beckons me.

What meets me is what I would, once, have thought a normal meal - but now, with hunger gnawing at my insides, it seemed like a feast fit for a general. Bacon, sausages, toast, mushrooms, eggs, all the luxurious foods I had long since missed. I take a seat at the table, ignoring the flash of pain through my stomach, and set about deciding upon which pile of delicious food to devastate first. After some deliberation I choose a particularly golden-looking corner of toast to begin the meal, pulling it to my plate before the warm, melted butter drips from its edge. As I take a bite I am dazed by the taste - I am long unused to the rich warmth of non-ration foods, and this is bliss in comparison. The others are already enjoying platefuls of the meal, and I follow suit, piling the dish high with the best food I think I’ve ever seen.

~~~~~~~~~~

I could not recognise the person in the mirror. My hair was limp, only just growing long, from where I neglected to keep it “pretty”. Pretty doesn’t win a war, I would always tell myself, doing nothing to keep up my appearance save taking scissors to the rebellious patches of length. After brushing it furiously, over and over again, I give up, glancing in despair out of my door, slightly open. I can see Betha standing before her own mirror, neatening up the last of her outfit as her hair shifted and changed at her whim. The curly strands of a rich, dark, brown turn pink at the tips, then blue, then peach, before settling upon a light yellow, and she gives a smile back at her reflection before moving away. Turning to my own mirror again, I shake my head. I haven’t done this in years. Regardless, I close my eyes, picturing what I wanted. I never understood why Imaginaries could change their hair - everyone just accepted it, really, and never asked why. As long as we kept the essence of ourselves: we could not ever deviate from how our Dreamers had Imagined us.

Opening my eyes again, I feel the blonde strands brush against my neck, tickling my chin gently with the new length. Cropped, practical, casual. A better look for me, I suppose, than a cruel reminder of the past.

Turning away from my reflection, I lift the dress off of its hanger, and step into it, zipping up the back with a moment of effort. It’s an unusual feeling, cold inside and warm around the edge, a strange sensation for me: someone who has never worn a dress before. I do not linger over the details of the dress, merely pulling it into the right place - it isn’t mine, and I will wear it for mere hours, nothing more. Wrapping my old Battalion jacket about my shoulders, I’m thankful for the stitching across the sleeve - sutures on the wounds of the fabric, repairing the threads torn apart by claws and teeth. I move and change the medals to the left of my lapel, rearranging them to make room for rewards anew. Rewards I didn’t know existed. Rewards that shouldn’t exist.

With a final glance to the mirror, I am satisfied with my appearance.

The door clicks to a close.

~~~~~~~~~~

“We’ll be the best Battalion there ever was!” the young recruit grinned, standing among her team and looking around at them. “We’ll defeat all the Nightmares that stand in our way - Captain Marston will lead us, right?” she turned to me, eyes bright with excitement. Private Kelly… Blackwell? The name was still foggy to me, though she was a true character, one unlikely to be forgotten. She reminded me of myself when I had just joined the City Military - so curious, so desperate for adventure, so yearning for action.

I smiled in return, coolly. “I certainly hope so.” Her face lit up with happiness, and she sat again, knees bouncing with the thought of it.

“I can see us now, all lining up before the Major Generals, each getting a medal for our triumph.” another added, an older warrior - an Officer of my new Battalion, experienced and confident. Officer Marcus James, his name tag would announce, adorning his shoulder beneath the symbol of his status. Only those in leading roles needed their names upon their uniforms.

A voice called from the crowd, and I looked up, scanning the group as we sat and stood and lounged in the room we were assigned. Sometimes it was tricky keeping up with fifteen soldiers, but it was my job, and I swore to do it well. Eleven years of being in this army had taught me that much. “W-will the Captain will get her medals first, as she is the highest rank?” they asked, and I stood to find the source. A very young soldier, barely looking old enough to fight, his eyes dark with a nervousness contrasting to his peers.

I smile again, and turn to address the whole room. “The opposite, actually. When medals are awarded, they will always go in one order and one only - and that is from the lowest rank, going upwards. Even the lowest of a Battalion’s members could find themselves the hero of the day. If we triumphed as well as you say, we would all stand in a line - I would receive a medal last, as the highest rank there.”

~~~~~~~~~~

I am the first.

I am now the lowest rank in this Battalion.

Because I am the only one left.

I bow my head towards the Major General as he attaches the small, glittering plate to my jacket, but I cannot see it. Tears are stinging and blurring my eyes, catching and pooling at the edges, but I refuse to allow their release, instead praying that they would not betray the agony I felt.

As the quiet, muffled clapping is silenced, I turn, facing the avenue behind the gilded stage. Music is playing here: a slow, mournful tune, getting louder and louder, a painful contrast to the bright rays of the sun. It shines over every building in the City, showing every colour rising in the reflections of the glass - a mockery of the deaths I had to watch.

And with that thought, they returned.

Fifteen members of the Healers Battalions, carrying out their sad, alternate duty. Each one held a bouquet, a group of every colour, co-ordinating with the colours of each of my Battalion. I can see every one. Holman. Blackwell. James. Marchetti. Chao. Michaels. Every damned one passes my eyes, and I can feel my hands balling into fists with the effort not to sob. My teeth are biting hard on my lip until I taste the sharp tang of blood, and I have to tear my eyes away from the procession, to the monument in the centre of the clearing. The old flowers there are just beginning to wilt, the petals staining the white marble. They are the flowers of this Army. The sigil of our hope.

My Battalion is placed before the column, the stone long since filled with names. A soldier climbs the steps towards me, and salutes - I do the same in return. A formality. He hands me a pot, with the emblem of the Military engraved upon it, beautiful blue flowers growing from the soil. I begin my descent from the stage, desperate not to fall: kick, walk, kick, walk, I tell myself, to avoid stepping upon my long, borrowed dress.

I reach the monument, and place the flowers before it, among all the others.

Forget-me-nots.