“FUCK!”

The loud profane exclamation was followed by the rapping of knuckles on a door. “Marco are you good?” said a voice laden with sleep and mild concern. Marco had been in bed and wrapped in the coils of a particularly vivid nightmare born from the memory of his experience in Manila. The intensity of the dream caused his to body to spasm suddenly resulting in the top of his head slamming into the headboard. The resulting thud was enough to jerk him from sleep and served as a painful awakening. His dorm room was sparsely decorated and populated by four pieces of furniture. A single bed, a desk, a bookcase, and a small nightstand. The desk was covered in papers, pens, and positioned next to Marco’s bed. The sole light source came from the radiant red numbers of the clock that lay atop the desk. It was 3:45AM. Sitting up in bed, Marco reflexively massaged the sore spot of his head before getting up to answer the door.

“Ey Andre, sorry, sorry. I’m ok. Just a bad dream.” Marco and Andre were of similar height, but the physical resemblances ended there. Marco was lean, thin, of a swarthy complexion, had almond colored eyes, and short black hair ruffled into a mess of curls. There was a faded scar on his right temple. Andre had shaved down blond hair, ice for eyes, broad chested and possessed very pale skin. His voice bore the indication of an Eastern Euro accent but only slightly. Andre stared at Marco analytically, “Are you sure? Was it one of the dreams?” Marco ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah but it wasn’t anything too serious, not this time at least. I’m fine, really.” Marco and Andre met a few weeks after they both had started attending the George Academy. Quickly the pair recognized that they had a bond based in tragedy. Andre recounted how he had lived through the Mineral Wars, which were various violent skirmishes between several Eastern Euro nations over disputed territories that possessed certain rare minerals.

The Mineral Wars lasted the better part of four years and were of a particularly brutal demeanor. Andre’s family had left their homeland during the third year of the fighting for greener pastures. The toll on Andre was invisible but quite real. Upon learning that, Marco confided in Andre about his own experience in Manila and the effects it had on his life. The two young men understood each other in a very specific way. It was like Marco and Andre spoke the same secret language. The language of trauma.

The pair spoke a while longer before Andre shambled back to his dorm. His deep bellow of a yawn echoing in the hallways. It was a quiet Thursday night and most of the cadets were either sleeping or holed off in some other part of the campus, studying. Marco’s dorm was one of many in the honey combed building and had served as his residence for the better part of a year.

            Marco shut the door. He made his way to the large window opposite the door. He opened it and the cool night air drifted in replacing the tense atmosphere. “Glad it wasn’t Abby” Marco mumbled as he stood in front of the window. Marco was shirtless. Sleeping shirtless was something he did since being a small child and continued to do as a young man. This little habit of his coupled with his night terrors could produce very awkward situations for Marco.  Much like Andre, concerned cadets of the female persuasion who Marco was acquainted with, might check up on him after a particularly intense night terror which could result in some awkward situations. He stared out at the courtyard of the campus, his eyes tracing the movements of the few itinerant cadets and custodians. His eyes wandered over to the middle of the quad and there he beheld a battle unfolding between vicious rivals. 

Proud and furious, the statue depicted a medieval knight grappling with a huge reptilian creature. It was dark grey and comprised of some sort of natural stone that had an impression of being older than it was. At orientation seven months prior, Marco was informed that every military or educational training program that was involved with GULF had a statue depicting the rancorous contest. The knight drove a lance into the beast’s skull as its twisting body coiled around the knight’s left leg and waist. The helm of the knight had its visor closed obscuring the warrior’s identity. A delicate carving of a rose appeared on each shoulder of the knight, engraved vines trickling down the shoulders and wrapping around the arms. Marco was unsure of what the image the breastplate depicted. To him, it looked like a shield that within it had some exotic design approximating wings on fire with the words-Luce Absente, Obscuritas Obtinet-engraved under it. Marco always thought that the mystery behind the knight’s identity was deliberate given the mission of GULF. Most people fixated on the knight and were dazzled by the majesty it portrayed. Marco felt differently. He was instead drawn to the serpentine creature that served as adversary to the knight.

A long winding scaled body lined with three pairs of legs with each foot topped off with sharp talons. The wings on it looked diminutive suggesting a vestigial nature. The countenance of the beast was of a pained and angry scowl, its fangs jutting out like a venomous snake. The lance pierced the center of its head. It was the eyes that Marco was most fascinated by. Large half-moons, there was no discernable pupil. They were only smoothed over concrete with no detailing. There was an unknowability to them, a sense that this creature was utterly alien to Marco and of an existence that he could scarcely understand. Paradoxically, Marco also felt that within the strangeness there was something. He knew the feeling well, he revisited it regularly in his dreams and terrors.

Marco shut the window to a small crack and retreated to his bed. The digital clock read 3:55AM and next to it on the desk was a small inconspicuous white bottle and a half full bottle of water. Marco grabbed the bottle and popped open the cap, shaking it into his palms, two small capsules rolled out.  He sat on the edge of the bed. He stared at the pills and rolled the between his fingers. The small pills were stark medicinal white. Marco wore an expression of fatigue as he stared at the small tablets. “I guess I still need these fucking things.” Marco murmured before slipping the pills into his mouth and craning his head back, swallowed. He drank some water and fell back into bed where his thoughts took Marco back years, back to Manila. 

...TBC

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