Avescope Memento Mori

Mama cried when I left for the army. Pierre, my older brother, died in
Austria four years ago fighting yet another of the emperor’s wars and
she hasn’t been the same since. I wanted to cry when I left too, but
Mama needed me not to. Even then, I knew I was doomed, but I told
her I’d be back in no time because that’s what she wanted to hear.
“If a cannon ball is coming at you dodge out of the way. Maybe you’ll
be shamed but you’ll be alive.” Mama had a desperate, pleading, but
ultimately fatalistic tone in her voice.
That’ll never happen in this universe. Ducking out of the path of a
cannon ball is considered the most cowardly single act you can
perform on the battlefield. If you dodge the ball,it’ll just hit someone
else. They’ll get your ball and that’s just not right. Even I — who
wouldn’t bat an eye at running away if the officers magically
disappeared — wouldn’t dream of denying my ball its opportunity to
damage me beyond repair.
The sting of Sophie’s slap at the end of our goodbye remains on my
cheek, which will probably soon be torn violently away. “I hope you
die, you pig!” She said as I walked away,head hanging from the guilt
and shame I felt. Only sixteen herself, the pregnancy will destroy the
poor girl’s life, and for what? A romp in the hayloft that lasted maybe
a minute.
I don’t blame Sophie for wishing me dead. But if, by some miracle,
my ball isn’t really my ball and there aren’t any my balls out there
waiting for me, I will pocket my discharge bonus then march straight
back home and ask her to marry me. Big talk, I realize, for someone
who’s about to draw his last breath.
I miss Pierre. I’ll miss Mama. I’ll miss Sophie — even though she won’t
miss me — but I can say for certain that I won’t miss Papa. In fact,
what am I doing wasting my last few seconds of thinking on that
bastard? For the millionth time in my life I rub the scars on my lower
back as my face flushes with anger and embarrassment for taking all
those years of abuse. Jacques only bit people because he was beaten
so much. Papa died a crazy man, ravaged by syphilis. It was too kind
of a death for such a monster. He should have had to die standing in
a field watching a ball fly straight at his head.
What will they say about us? An entire generation swallowed whole
by the emperor’s insatiable hunger for war. Every family has lost at
least one boy, some two, three, four, or more.I hope they feel sorry for
me and my compatriots. Perhaps our example will make them think
twice before embarking on any more costly martial adventures.
Honestly, who even won the Thirty Years’ War anyway? I’m sure it
doesn’t matter at all.Even if France loses this current war — which
seems highly likely — what will it matter fifty years from now? There
will still be a France, a French language, a French people, a French
culture. It takes a lot more than losing a war to lose your identity.
Look at Spain. The emperor ground its government and its people
into the dirt with his boot and yet it still exists and will survive long
after he rots.
Avescope | 47
My time is almost up. The ball is big and getting bigger by the
second as it focuses its last bit of flight on ensuring my demise. The
gates of hell are opening slowly below me, and I hear the devil calling
my name. Gritting my teeth, I screw my eyes shut and brace for