WHITE AND RED.

 

The forest…gloomy, desolate trees drown in white snow. Beneath the running boots, there's no crackle of dry sticks or rustle of the undergrowth. Only a quiet creak. Every footstep leaves a distinct mark. A mark so distinct that even a novice hunter can continue the hunt without the slightest problem. The snow seeps into every nook and cranny of the boot, filling it with its presence.

The running boy's heart tries to leap from his cramped chest. The boy runs as fast as he can…a perverted surgeon's dream close to fulfillment. Fear hangs in the air. Every now and then, he falls…gets up…falls again…the circle closes. Bloodshed is imminent. Everything would be fine if the boy ran for sport. For the sheer pleasure of a constant, controlled run…but not now, not in this place. The boy is running for his life. First his damned dreams, and now his waking death. Does God, looking down, know the outcome? A goal? An escape? Or death… in the middle of nowhere?

The boy is breathing heavily… about to cough up his lungs, tearing his larynx… The victim regrets smoking cigarettes. He buys his own death and, using colloquialisms, screams, "What the hell for?" It wasn't a good move. The hunter has confirmed his beliefs… he knows where his prey is… close now… not far. Further escape is pointless. The boy named… let's say… Kamil stops in his tracks. Ready to die? Three, two, one… Go… Begin the soul evacuation… Kamil stands motionless… run, damn it. Kamil tastes blood in his mouth. What's going on? There's more and more blood… Suddenly, Kamil falls to his knees. He chokes on blood. He screams… cries, dying. He feels… that it's not his heart. It's not his heart… so what? The boy sees a man out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't know what's going on. What's happening? Am I going to die?

Only the last question will be answered. Soon... the man standing over him is dressed in light camouflage. He's wearing a helmet... a gas mask... a backpack, and a damn shotgun aimed at the boy's head. Kamil convulses. Blood spurts from his mouth, making a horribly sickening sound. The man screams at him not to move. If Kamil had any dignity, he would have done so with a smile... if it would have allowed him. His chest bulged unnaturally. The soldier runs closer. He lowers his weapon... calls for reinforcements. Kamil doesn't care anymore. He smells death... does death always taste so disgusting? Kamil reaches out towards the soldier and contorts his face in a silent scream. There's more and more blood... and more soldiers too.

Three soldiers are running towards him… is help coming? The soldier standing over him aims straight at Kamil's chest. A shot… an uncontrolled flow of blood. The boy lies on his back. Something emerges through the hole in his chest. Kamil is still alive. He can't believe what he's seeing. That something was inside him… The soldiers open fire on the boy. His body is torn apart by the impact of bullets. Huge slabs of flesh are torn off, streams of blood turn the color of snow dark red. It's just another shapeless hunk of flesh. The world saw the same thing during the wars in Vietnam, Iraq, and on television. Smoking from bullets… a human body stripped of its humanity.

One of the soldiers stands over Kamil's body. He turns to his companions and speaks to them, his voice muffled by his mask:

"I think we made it… I can't see anything

." If it weren't for the gas mask, the other soldiers would have seen his smile. Wide as the widest river, baring his yellow teeth. Unfortunately, his inappropriate grimace is brutally ripped from his face. From the steaming entrails of what was once Kamil, a strange, repulsive creature erupts. A wild, sharp sound that confounds the human mind, and its teeth gleam like thousands of pins. With a monstrous roar, the creature leaped at the squad leader. Its slick, thin, long body forced its way under his clothing. The man dropped his rifle to the ground and, screaming, pulled off his gas mask. The rest of the squad saw his terrified face. This was no longer the same man who, just two days ago, had ordered them to clean dirty toilets with a toothbrush. Now he was terrified, crying like a child, begging them on his knees for help. The soldiers stood over their commander. All the humiliations they had suffered because of their commander flashed before their eyes. Save him? Not save him? Shoot him in the head? Wait? The attacked commander rolled in the snow, leaving long, bloody tracks. Come on!!! Extend a helping hand… The soldiers slowly begin to retreat. The commander shouts… begs for help… shouts… and they pretend they don't hear a thing…