geist isra

Isra was hardly a stranger to conflict by the sole nature of her upbringing in this turbulent region. If it wasn't this group trying to move in and claim power and resources and influence, it was another. As unfortunate as it was, there was only one language a government like this would understand. Their aggression would be paid back in kind.

The Arab Spring exploded into a blazing Summer, a wildfire of grenade blasts and bullet spray lighting up the civilian streets. Isra herself had taken part in raiding a police station, relieving a government sector of weapons that would find a better use. The Damascus suburb where she had spent her childhood became a warzone, and she was determined to push back the invaders.

With her pilfered weapons she ducked behind a pile of sandbags and barrels, and peered out into the streets. No military in sight now, but the sound of puttering tank engines in the distance was clear. How nice it would have been to think it was merely an intimidation tactic, but the streets were flooded with the rubble of falling buildings. They would use whatever tactics they could to destroy the opposition.

But Isra was unafraid.

The rebellion had a few military goals. The first and most obvious was to push them back. Even if she and her brothers in arms were outgunned, smart enough strategy would be plenty to potentially force a retreat. Isra, meanwhile, volunteered to help storm an intelligence office nearby. It was so close, she thought. An easy target with some clever thinking. Some of the deserters had even gotten their hands on some good and proper missiles.

There was still the very real possibility of death, and yet she still was prepared to make her move. All the training would build up to this very moment.

And it was time.

Forward the small makeshift battalion went in the dead of night, Isra hanging behind, gun tight in her hand. They darted from building to building, avoiding the sound of rumbling vehicles and marching boots as they picked their way through the ruin. It wasn't far now, and the cover was excellent. It had to succeed. It had to.

The hope of a painless mission died with a burst of fire, a blinding detonation in the darkness that rocketed towards the group. It slammed into the wall of a nearby building, sending it toppling down, dust cascading around their feet. Isra's eyes darted back and forth, but the blast left her ears ringing, the drone drowning out the sounds of screams and shouts. Once she could see again, she watched as her comrades ran on ahead, making their move among the chaos.

Maybe they would succeed, but it was too late for her to join them. Only one thing could be done now. She had to provide a distraction, try to take down as many of her attackers as she could.

Keeping out of the way of the falling building, she armed her gun and rose up from behind a parked car, peppering burst after burst into the darkness. The gunfire illuminated the dark streets, giving her a flash of an image of one soldier's body jerking and falling under the spray. One down. But how many others are there? She knew she had to keep low. Lowering her gun, she fled to another car, this one overturned. Another soldier fell, and another.

As she was fleeing from hiding place to hiding place, more explosions echoed. But these came from their targets, the rockets igniting the base quickly. Despite it all, all the death, the destruction, she smiled. They had, at least, finished what they started.

For that brief second, she didn't notice that the blaze did more than accomplish their mission. It also lit up her whole body, in clear sight of the enemy.

One second was all it took, and by the time she realized her mistake. As soon as she tried to take it back and duck for cover, the bullets ripped through every bit of her skin they could seek out.

--

The sun rose and Isra's eyes fluttered open. Where was she? They had succeeded, but what had actually happened?

She sat up immediately, the only moving body out of dozens that were all laid out on tarps, all with varying degrees of damage. A pool of blood had soaked into her clothes, and when she put her hand to the ground she touched bullets.

What the...

It didn't take long to come to her, as she felt over her body. Certain places had little dimples... no, scars. Scars where the bullets had been pulled out of her. There was no doubt. She had died. Not a few minutes ago, she was just as dead as any other body here.

Then how was she alive now?

She got her answer through a gentle plinking circling her head. Soft, almost melodic. It would have been comforting if she didn't immediately recognize it as the sound of gunfire on metal.

It was a great serpent, and for a moment it looked to be made of wood. No... no, it was the same rubble she'd seen on the streets, come down from the building. It shed fine dust and pebbles as it moved that dissipated into the air, never seemed to stain anything underneath. Something shifted over it that shined in the morning light, hundreds of little points of light. On a closer look, it was bullet casings, scurrying in lines like ants, disappearing in the cracks to reemerge somewhere else.

The thing seemed to notice she was staring, and the stones and chunks rearranged themselves, arms and legs and a head, just like a human. It knelt down to her. Stared right back and sang its eerie song.

This had been the thing that saved her life. And would forever be a reminder of what she'd survived.