HelvaI heard the clanging of swords as I stepped onto the battle field. Arrows whistled by, screams filled the air. I had only been walking for minutes, yet my boots were soaked with blood. With my eyes locked on the horizon, my feet kept walking at a steady, unstoppable pace. I couldn't bother the war, I couldn't participate.
A cry for help shattered my wall, the feeble voice made me look and turn around. As my eyes found the owner of the voice, time stopped. Swords still in mid air, soldiers falling in place. A little girl, around the age of six lay in shock on the ground. She pointed at me and screamed. My long, brown, pony tail swayed in the wind as I gracefully stepped over to her. I held out my hand, a welcoming look on my face. She backed away in terror, flinching as I crouched down. I patted her on the head and the look of fear in her eyes slowly calmed down.
"Why are you here?" She asks me. "Girls aren't allowed to fight!"
"But they don't see me, to them I'm invisible." I reply. "I am the right age to fight, twelve years old, I can also marry but what use would that do?"
"But why appear in front of me?" She asks, her voice quivering.
"Because, little shapeshifter, you needn't be here, waiting to die." I say, looking into her eyes.
"Little shapeshifter? I could actually be twenty years old?" She retorts. "This is only a random form!"
"Yes it is a random form" I say. "The war is raging, like it has for the past a thousand years, my lord. My lord come back to reality!" My voice changes to a strict tone. "Reality is dying! My lord! My lord! Come back to reality!" I shout. My voice echoing all along the battle field.
"Wake up My lord! Wake up to Reality!" As I shake them harder and harder, color appears in the black. Like an empty canvas and paint being thrown on. With every shake, another blotch appears. As color fills the world, it glows a blinding light. The light shines like the stars, so bright until I close my eyes with pain. As I open my eyes again, I'm back in my own time
* * *
My head shoots forward, the feeling of horrid whiplash spreads throughout my skull as my head sent flying back. I reach up to rub my neck yet my hands are tied. I panicky glance around my prison. Being tied to a bed does not help the fact that metal bars surround it. A taste of mold fills my mouth, a dirty rag used to muffle me. I bite down on the rag, filled with the uncontrollable rage that follows confusion. My hands squeeze tight, creating holes in my palm. If only I could reach my head. If only I could activate the gun.
Born in a small village town I was held the mark of the gun. My parents were scared when I never grew any hair on top of my head. I always asked why people ran away from me, like mice and a cat. Every day I would rub my forehead, hoping it wasn’t true, but leather goggles pushed their way out of my skull I knew my fate was sealed. My gun was already fully evolved, old fashioned goggles with wide rims stuck out of my head. It blended into my skin like a tattoo at the ends yet they felt like the real thing.
The mark of the gun was helpful in some ways, They could be used as any normal pair of goggles.