9 June 2012
Fear replaced the fading dream, the moment of waking spoiled. The sudden realisation of where he was, and how he became embroiled.
He saw it as his duty, to stand up and protect his men. His rank allowed him some privilege, but he considered himself one of them.
It had been 'Tenko' that morning, so many days ago. The daily morning roll-call, that brought about such woe.
He had mustered his men as usual, the wounded, the dying, the sick. It was getting harder each morning, for each morning the men weren't as quick.
Sgt. Jackson was an engineer, he had long since served with the man. From the bloody beaches of Normandy to the islands of Japan.
They called each other 'originals', the only two there from the start. But seeing his friend being beaten like that, was breaking the Captains heart.
The camp commander was furious, when the Sgt refused to stand. He could not lift his weakened frame, each time he tried, he fell to the sand.
He was stick thin now, emaciated, they all where, the Captain too. Living on a pitiful diet, of soya and seaweed stew.
Working twelve hours a day on the railway, from Burma to Japan. Three long months of captivity, had taken it's toll on the man.
The beating had been wicked, three guards with bamboo sticks. The Sargent's body was whelped and slashed, and it made the Captain sick.
He knew he had to do something, he could not stand idly by. The man on the floor was the Captains friend, they had to stop or he'd die.
The Captain sprang into action, with what little strength he had. Shoulder barging a guard to the ground. The situation was bad.
The Captain was subdued in seconds, the Sergeant was already dead. His face unrecognisable, just a mashed up pulp of red.
Now all his men where at gunpoint, as the guard stood and dusted his suit. The camp commander stepped over, and turned out the lights with his boot.
He could tell it would be a hot day, and he thought of his men as they toiled. Working under the sun on the railway, as inside the box he boiled.
He'd forgotten how long he'd been in there, more than once he forgot his own name. The delirium and hallucinations, where driving the Captain insane.
Now he shared the box with Germans, and he shared the box with death. Faces of the dead and dying, faces of the loved ones he'd left.
And he spoke to gods and monsters, and he spoke to nothing at all. And he lived out many lifetimes, movies played out on the walls.
As the mid day heat intensified, the sand beneath him was wet. He felt like he was melting, in the blood and the piss and the sweat.
And he sucked at the floor for water, and he chewed on the sand as meat. In the madness of his isolation, nothing had ever tasted so sweet.
Each morning he heard 'Tenko', like the ghost of a forgotten song. Each morning the numbers dwindled away, until the morning all numbers where gone.
Until the morning there was silence. Until the morning of his death. Until the morning that the sunrise, took the Captains final breath.
The Box • Opuss № I