“Yemer!”
“Davon Yemer!” The Division soldier looks down at the clipboard. The clean-cut paper is listed with the names of children set to attend the newly made youth center orphanage. It is not a job that those appointed to it are taking very seriously.
“Look…” The second clipboardless soldier sighs, “All the other kids are here, let's just get going.”
The boy hiding in the ravine beside the train station grins at the words.
He allows himself a small moment to celebrate his victory before wandering deeper into the ravine.
He’s going to run back home now, back to where his bed and books, and toys that he won’t have to share with other kids are.
Sure, Mom and Dad went to go fight in the war, but they’ll come back, he’s sure of it. And when they do come back, which they will, he’ll make sure the house is all clean for them. And then they’ll praise him for doing such a good job watching the house and taking care of his chores, and they’ll both say “Good Job, Davey!’’ because Davon is a stupid grown-up name that only Dad is allowed to be called.
He skips out of the ravine and into the forest, prancing without a care in the world.
Then the soldier with the clipboard snatches him by the shirt. “This him?”
“Yeah! I remember him telling you guys his name back at the roundup thingy!” The boy with glasses at the foot of the soldier is just a year or so younger than him. He stands with his finger aimed at Davey as he squirms in the soldier's grasp.
“You, tattle tell!” Davey cries out at the younger boy as he and the soldier move back toward the train. The soldier tosses him into a seat with an inconsiderate thud. The younger boy sits next to him like nothing happened.
“Thanks for the help, kid. Make sure your friend doesn’t run off again.”
“We’re not friends!” Davey barks back at the soldier who couldn’t care less about the remark. He sighs, checking the final name off the clipboard before walking away. Davey finally accepts his defeat, pushing his frustration onto the other boy, “Why’d you have to tell 'em where I was anyway?”
“Cause they were looking for you.”
“So you just do whatever grown-ups ask you to?”
The younger boy pauses before shrugging, “Yep.”
Davey crosses his arms. “That’s lame. You’re lame.”
“Well, you’re lame for running away like a coward.”
“Nuh, uh!”
“Yeah, huh!”
The train begins to move as the pair enters a shoving match. The shoves soon turn into punches, which turn into kicks, which turn into an amateur wrestling match between two very inexperienced parties. It is not long until the boys are rolling around on the floor of the train and trying their best to harm each other.
“Why did I have to get the babysitting job?” The soldier sighs again, getting up from his seat to break up the pair, “Hey! Cut it out, you two!” The order is ignored. The other children are now cheering at the fight.
“Stupid kids….” The soldier grabs his clipboard, “Gelmidas Atheneum! Davon Yemer! The second we get to the center, you’re, uh-”
He stops speaking once Davey starts laughing. “Gelmidas, ha! That sounds like a hair gel! Ha!”
He rolls over, laughing on the floor, kicking up his legs while Gelmidas fixes his glasses.
“My name might be funny, but yours is stupid, Davon.” Gelmidas stands up and delivers a final, fatal stomp to Davon’s left eye.
Davon cries out in pain before being dragged away.
“I’m told you boys got into a fight. I’ll have you know that sort of behavior isn’t going to be tolerated within these walls.” Headmistress Eira’s cold and commanding voice cuts through the boys. The pair are practically sinking in the two hunks of cushioned fabric that seem to be chairs in name only.
Eira’s gaze remains fixed on the trains pulling into the center. She’s been watching the trains from the stained orange glass windows ever since the boys were brought into the room. It is only now that she pulls away to light a cigarette.
“So who won?”
The duo is dumbfounded by the question.
“My Dad said that grown-ups shouldn’t smoke in front of kids.”
Eira chuckles at Davey’s comment, “I’m guessing you lost, then. Davon was it? I know Gelmidas is the one with the glasses.”
Gelmidas sinks deeper into his chair, unable to tell if he’s being praised or not. Regardless, the thought of someone else being brought down to bring him up is enough to make him uncomfortable. “No, Ma’am, um…” Gelmidas begins to interject, unsure of how to end the sentence, he trembles off into a whisper, “Davon won.”
Eira puffs out a cloud of smoke, narrowing her eyes in on Davey, “And yet you’re the one with the black eye. Interesting.”
Davey unconsciously moves his hand up to the left side of his face. His eye is still stinging with pain. He hastily pulls his hand away, crossing his arms instead. He isn’t used to someone sticking up for him. It’s as if his very body is rejecting the gesture.
“Why are we here?” He asks Eira. Her eyes are still on him, even through the haze of smoke.
Gelmidas repeats and rephrases the question, “Yeah, Ma’am, why are we here? Are we being punished?”
Eira laughs.
She marches over to the imposing desk with an authority that only serves to further unnerve the boys. “Why are you here, you ask?”
She squishes the cigarette down into an ashtray with nothing more than her thumb as she continues, “Ten years ago, Emperor Magnus Ohavim declared our planet independent of the Republic of humanity, and since then, every able-bodied citizen has slowly joined the war effort as the fighting has intensified, correct?”
The large words sink the boys deeper into the cushions.
Eira shrugs, sitting down at her desk. “Of course, children don’t keep up with politics, do they? Boys, I fought in the last human war over thirty years ago, so I already know how this is going to keep playing out. Your parents are going to put their lives on the line out there in the fight for our freedom and self-reliance against the Republic's failures of democracy and capitalism. The war will be long and, without a doubt, bloody. Our people will need fighters and lo' and behold, you two boys have already shown yourselves to be such. I can understand if you both expected this to be like school, but the fact of the matter is that, despite its name, this isn’t even an orphanage or youth center. This is war, boys, and you two have just been drafted along with everyone else on this planet.”
“Brian Thorn! Gelmidas Atheneum! Step forward!”
“He goes by Gerry!” Davon shouts from the sidelines as Brian smacks the practice blade into Gerry, who was taken off guard by the sudden mention of his name. The other students in the bleachers erupt in a roar at Brian's attack.
They cheer for the prodigy swordsman beating down on the bookworm, teacher’s pet.
“I didn’t say begin!” Coach Stetson calls out only for Thorn to deliver another blow.
The crowd erupts once more. Gerry cries out with them, but the expression is one of pain.
“Come on, at least put up a fight!” Thorn laughs, raising the blade above his head, preparing to strike again.
“Low, Gerry, go low!” Following Davon’s advice, Gerry smacks the practice blade against Brian’s lower abdomen.
The crowd falls into a murmur.
Davon leaps up, “Kick his ass!”
“Settle down!” Coach Stetson calls out, distracting Brian long enough for Gerry to kick him in the groin. The prodigy swordsman falls to the ground, crying and gripping his crotch in pain.
The crowd is silent now.
Stetson blows his whistle, hurrying over to Gerry. “Unsportsmanlike conduct!”
“Sorry, sir, I-” Gerry is dragged away by the ear as a large portion of the students rush over to Brian’s aid.
Davon prepares to march down and defend Gerry from Coach Stetson’s scolding, only to have his uniform pulled on by two girls. “This is your fault, y’know.” One of the girls remarks with a pretentious attitude.
“Really? My fault?” Davon scoffs, “Brian was gonna beat the snot out of him.” The other girl speaks up now, “Do you know how many people like Brian compared to Gerry? Now that he’s been humiliated, who are they gonna look up to? All you did was make them angry.” Davon shrugs off the girl's lecture, “That’s not my problem,” he states, leaping off the bleachers over to Gerry and Coach Stetson.
“Unsportsmanlike conduct?” Davon interrupts the berating, having already prepared a rebuttal, “Coach Stetson, there is no conduct on the battlefield. Gerry did what was needed to defeat the enemy by any means necessary.”
Davon places his hands defiantly on his hips, proud of himself as Gerry mutters under his breath, “I don’t need you to defend me, Davon.” The words go unnoticed while Stetson takes on a similar stance to mock Davon, “On a battlefield, you also look out for your own. I can respect caring about your friend, but Brian’s well-being is just as important as Gerry’s. Besides, how can you kids expect to survive on a battlefield if you can’t even swordfight properly?”
“But, Coach, why would we need swords if there are smarter ways to take out the enemy?”
“Well, kid, you can’t kick every Republic Soldier in the balls; they have women fighting for them, too.” Stetson sarcastically refutes, leaving Davon red with embarrassment. “That’s, uh... not what I meant...”
Coach Stetson places his large palms on the shoulders of both boys. “I’ll go tell Headmistress Eira to have you two clean the restrooms tonight.”
“Unsportsmanlike, I’ll show him unsportsmanlike. Why does everyone around here treat us like kids?”
“Cause we are?” Gerry replies, shoving a plunger into a toilet on the other side of the restroom.
“I know that!” Davon barks in frustration, lifting the fractured brush away from the urinal and waving it around helplessly in the air. “But you know what I mean, right?”
Gerry remains focused on his task, tightening his grip on the plunger. “You’re trying to say that nobody respects us?”
“Exactly.” Davon swings the brush in a checkmark motion just as Gerry unclogs the toilet. “Well, you don’t exactly help with that, Davon.”
“Hey, you’re the one who lets everyone boss you around. You still let the Teacher’s call you Gelmidas even though people laugh at that name.”
Gerry sets the plunger down at the comment, “And you go by Davon just because that one guy in our mathematics class said it sounded cool.”
Davon blushes, pointing the brush at Gerry like a swordsman taunting their opponent, “You mean Pietro, and that’s different. You wouldn’t get it because you don’t care about that kinda thing.”
Gerry steps over to sit next to Davon on the unsanitary floor that any rational person would avoid contact with. “You mean like how I wouldn’t get what you said to Coach Stetson about finding smarter ways to win?”
Davon flexes the brush in his hands, sighing, “Well, you read enough that you probably would. You might even know more than I do.”
“Know more about what?”
“Ancient battle tactics? A history of Elf warfare as told by the Elf of Death Lady Triminiv? Religious and Arcane studies? The living machines? You got some weird interests, man.” Pietro laughs as he looks through the stack of books Davon has placed next to him in the library.
“I thought you liked weird?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t turn into one of Emperor Magnus Ohavim’s little religious weirdos.” Pietro jokes, pulling up a chair, much to the delight of Davon.
“Careful,” He warns with a sly smirk, “That kinda talk might get you turned in for treason, and now that you’re heading to real boot camp soon, you’ll be tried as an adult.”
Pietro returns the flirtation, using his index finger to gently lower the book from Davon’s nose and down to the face of the wood-grained desk. “I’m fine being tried as an adult as long as you’re the one trying me. If y’know what I mean.”
Davon’s face goes red as he quickly closes the book. “That’s, uh… pretty corny.”
“I thought you liked corny?” The couple is interrupted by a letter sliding its way across the desk. The books halt its runaway trajectory. The letter rests itself up against the large stack of hardcovers.
Davon wraps his fingers around the paper, gently opening it.
“I rushed over to you as soon as I got it. I’m sorry, Davon.” Gerry sorrowfully states as Pietro looks over the letter with Davon.
A chill quakes through the hands that hold the letter.
The paper falls out of Davon’s grip.
His fingers fold in on his palms as the letter lands on the table.
“To the surviving family of Maryin Yemer, we regret to inform you that approximately two months ago, at eighteen hundred hours, Mrs. Yemer lost her life on Jinomos-minimus in a Republic raid.” Pietro reads the paragraph aloud. He places a hand on Davon’s back once he’s done speaking, “Oh, Davon, that’s terrible. I’m so-”
“I received the letter about my Father last week. Gerry got ones for both his parents just a year after we were brought to this youth center as kids. You still haven’t gotten one, have you, Pietro?” Davon stands, smacking Pietro’s soothing hand aside, “But that doesn’t matter to you, does it? Your parents can fight and kill, and have their knees deep in the blood of their comrades, and you won’t give a shit because you think we’re fighting for nothing.”
Pietro rises from his seat. “What are you saying?”
“What I’m saying is you don’t have the right to insult Emperor Magnus Ohavim, and you definitely don’t have a right to comment on what I choose to study.”
Pietro slowly backs away, holding out his hands, unsure if he is doing so as a sign of surrender or retreat.
His voice shakes as he speaks, “Hey, man… I was just joking earlier. It’s my way of flirting, y’know, teasing you.”
“Pietro…” Davon’s folded palm shifts into a tightened fist. He digs his fingers as deep as he can into himself just so that he can grip onto something as he whispers, “You should leave.”
Pietro runs off at the words, fleeing into the labyrinth of bookshelves.
“Don’t you think that was kind of harsh? I mean, didn’t you spend the past few years kissing the ground he walked on?” Davon’s entire body trembles as he turns to Gerry, who watches him with an amount of concern that he simply hasn’t seen before.
Davon smiles, “Yeah, I guess I just got a little emotional there.”
“Davon?” Gerry takes Pietro’s seat at the table. Davon’s eyes strain and grow hazy.
Ever since he was a child, his life has been out of his control.
What other constant has he had?
What other purpose has he had?
“Are you alright?” The boy he has dedicated himself to asks.
The childhood friend that he’s always looked over.
The one who is always there for him.
The one who he is always there for.
The one person who comes closest to understanding him.
To knowing him.
There is no one else.
There never will be anyone else.
Davon leans into Gerry’s arms, now realizing what he has felt this whole time.
He knows that the boy he feels it for will never feel the same.
He knows that it's all hopeless.
He knows that he doesn’t want to feel this way.
Davon knows all of this.
He knows that he can do nothing but cry.