New story. Woot! For a Gaia writing contest. The prompt was to use song lyrics in the story. I used the following:

"Broken-Handed" by SR-71
-A taste of somebody else's world.
-Could my faith be true?
-Could I not want anyone else's world?
-Now I understand

"Ready, Set, Go" by Tokio Hotel
-Together we can make it.
-Never been so wide awake.
-Somewhere beyond the clouds, I can see the morning break.
-I promise you right now
-Too young to live a lie

Inspired by "Broken-Handed" by SR-71, "Ready, Set, Go" by Tokio Hotel, "Übers Ende der Welt" by Tokio Hotel, and "They All Fall Down" by SR-71. Lyrics and themes from them have been incorporated as themes, people, or events in the story, but do not physically appear in the text of the story.

I was also inspired after watching the French-made movie Joyeux Noël, which is a great WWI movie for those who aren't into the shoot-'em-up stuff.

I heard them coming earlier--their feet thundered harshly on the frozen ground. I can hear their carts now, following hours behind the troops. It is dark out, the perfect time to bring the carts--it's not like anyone will hear them coming.

Too bad bitter sarcasm does not come out easily on paper.

They are going to fight on the fields, I can sense it. They are going to consecrate the ground that has been in my family for generations, on which my only brother Jackson died defending his beliefs in this awful war of cultures. Just last month, Father was shot and killed by the Damrey army as he tended Mother's grave. I'm sure you remember that, Journal.

Did I tell you that they just let him fall and kept walking? Did I tell you the way I found him positioned, fetus-like, as if he was still alive and cowering as the men walked around him, leaving him to die painfully and alone in the snow?

I swear to whosever god or gods that I will find a way to stop this. I will. They will not fight on my family's land, nor anywhere else ever again.

This damn war has gone on for too long.

Ever neutral,
Zachary

---

Zachary Rowland stared out his bedroom window as he closed the thick leather-bound book on the desk in front of him. Outside, the sky was dark, cloudy--from both the approaching storm and the dust left lingering after the last bombing of the city. From this angle, he could not see the fields, but he knew there were soldiers there, digging deep and digging long.

He knew they would not rest that night, and neither would he.

Tucking the journal safely beneath his pillow, Zachary left his room and descended the stairs. They creaked beneath him, telling the entire hundred-fifty-year history of the old farmhouse. There were lights on downstairs in the living room, while the rest of the house was dark.

"Time for bed, Éda," he said, leaning on the doorframe.

Éda looked up from the large-print book she was reading and pouted. "Five more minutes, Zachary?" she pleaded. Her eyes were round as her face changed from a pout to a plead.

Zachary smiled and sat beside her on the sofa. "Okay. Come here and I'll read to you." He patted his lap and the five-year-old gladly situated herself there. Zachary propped the book open on his knee as he crossed his legs beneath the girl; then he began to read. In the back of his mind, he recalled the book from his childhood. Twelve years ago, he was Éda's age, but he was much more naïve than the little girl.

When he was five, the world had already split, ethnocentrism taking over as each distinct culture split from the others in an international Great Divide. War broke out when he was ten, but the tension had been there throughout his life.

The little girl in the book was like Zachary and his siblings: A mixture of two cultures from a time before the Great Divide. But she had a life dreamed up by an author who wanted to teach children tolerance, so naïve and unaware of how reality really worked.

Zachary had to pause in his reading for a moment to clear the bitter note that had crept into his voice. He did not know how Éda could read stories like this one when she had been through so much.

"I'm tired, Zachary." Éda's voice was small as she rubbed her sky blue eyes. Zachary's were cobalt, taking much more green from his father than Éda had. "Let's go to bed."

Carefully, Zachary lifted the little girl, letting the book fall onto the sofa. He carried her up the stairs, wondering if she had meant to keep him from reading further. For a brief moment, he paused outside her bedroom door, looking in before closing his eyes and continuing to his own room, where he laid Éda gently on the bed and pulled the covers to her chin. She was already asleep.

He would be damned if he put her in her own room and ended up having her killed. Her windows faced the direction of the fields, too, so the morning would greet her with gunshots and death. He had promised his mother that he would take care of her, and he swore he would live out the promise.

Taking a seat gently so the chair would not squeak, Zachary watched her for a moment. Then, he looked out the window, resting his elbows on the desk, his chin in his hands. The snow covering the ground had mostly melted over the course of the day. Spring was approaching, meaning it would soon be eight years since the war began. His wrist ached, a side affect of a broken wrist he had suffered when he was eight--it marked a change in the weather, and the clouds outside showed rain in the next day's forecast.

Zachary hoped the rain would quell the violence for another day, but he knew the hope was in vain.

---

The next morning, a loud bang awoke Zachary with a jerk. He sat bolt upright on the bed, disturbing Éda as she slept beside him. The room was still dim with the early morning light, but if night stopped wars, less people would be dead.

Eyes wide, Zachary pushed himself off the bed and rushed to Éda's bedroom to look out the window. He saw nothing, the distance and fog too much for his eyes. He heard the faint din of gunshots, however. What he heard before must have been a cannon or other large piece of artillery--he prided himself in his lack of weapon knowledge.

"What's happening, Zachary?" Éda tugged on Zachary's shirt with one hand, clutching Zachary's old stuffed bear Ted in the other. "Are we going to end up like Jackson?"

Zachary spun, kneeling at the same time. Eyes level with hers, he laid a hand on each shoulder. "We aren't going to end up like Jackson, or Daddy. Okay?" He brushed her hair out of her face. "We're going to be okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise." He pulled her into a tight embrace. "Let's go get some breakfast." He was not hungry.

In the kitchen, Éda sat on a stool, swinging her legs as she held Ted as tightly as she could. Zachary saw her fear every time he looked at her, and wished he could do something except make eggs.

"Zachary?" Éda whispered as Zachary beat the eggs in a glass bowl. He looked up. "What's going to happen to us?"

Zachary poured the eggs into a hot pan, thinking for a moment. "We're going to be okay. I told you that already."

She stared at the floor. "Zachary?" He looked up again. "Can't you do something about it?"

"About what?" Zachary knit his eyebrows at the sizzling pan.

"The war." Éda spoke as if Zachary should have known what she meant. "Can't you stop it?"

Zachary slid the eggs onto a plate to cool and walked around the counter to take a seat on the stool beside his sister. "It doesn't work that way, Éda," he said softly. "I can't stop a war that has been going on for eight years."

Éda's face creased. "Can't you try?" she pleaded.

Relaxing his face, Zachary petted her head. "I'll see if I can think of something."

---

9th . Achzen

Éda and I spent the day in the basement. We went through our old family photographs and box after box of memories, most so old Éda did not remember them. I told her stories and she eventually forgot about the war raging outside.

The basement was the safest place for us, especially if there was any sort of runaway shrapnel. I didn't tell Éda that, or she would have wanted to sleep down there in the cold.

I can't help but try to find an answer to her question from earlier. She asked me if I could stop the war, Journal. She wants me to make it better, and as much as I want to, I know I can't. How can I tell her that? She looks up to me as more than a brother now, and I don't want to see her let down.

But what can I do? How can I possibly stop this long war? I don't even know who is fighting in our fields--it could be any two of the hundreds of cultures around the world. Being sensible, I would guess that they are the Isva and the Damrey, the closest to us. I have cards for both, because Mother was Damrey and Father was Isva, but how would they react to me? How would they be able to cooperate with me when I am half of their enemy?

It's not as if I can just go traipsing in between their battle and holler "Stop" at the top of my lungs and hope to negotiate with them. Or at least get them to leave our land and go far enough away that they do not disturb Éda and I.

Éda had better not be reading this journal or I'm going to be in trouble tomorrow.

Prostrated,
Zachary

---

The clock read just after four o'clock when Éda shook Zachary awake. He sat up groggily, mumbling nonsense left over from a forgotten dream.

"It got louder, Zachary," Éda said, shaking Zachary's arm.

As Zachary's hearing and vision returned, he could hear the sound of the war--of the gunshots and yelling--and he could see the look of pure fright on Éda's face. He pulled her to his chest, covering one ear with his body and the other with his hand while he waited until he was fully awake. Then, he removed his hand from her ear.

"I'm going to do something," he whispered. "As soon as it is light out, I'll do something."

Zachary held Éda until she fell asleep, then laid her on the bed and covered her with the blanket. He walked to her bedroom and pulled the door closed, sitting on the window seat and staring across the fields. The morning was still too dark and foggy to see anything, but Zachary filled the smoky blue scene with how he imagined war: gruesome, treacherous. His imaginings only tightened the knot in his gut.

Without realizing, Zachary fell asleep, waking up with his forehead pressed against the cold window. It was light out now, and the fog was clearing. Stretching, Zachary checked his room to see if Éda was still asleep and found her making snow angels in the bed sheets.

Smiling, he took Éda downstairs. It was almost lunchtime, so he fixed her a sandwich. The knot in his stomach was too tight for him to eat anything, so he stared out the window instead, happy that the kitchen faced away from the fields.

In the distance, all sound of a battle ceased. Zachary looked at the clock--it was noon. The same thing had happened the day before, and he figured there was an unspoken ceasefire for an hour during lunch. There was one for breakfast and dinner, too.

"Listen to me, Éda," he said, turning serious eyes on the little girl. "I want you to go up to my room and close the door behind you. I want you to stay there until I come back. Okay?"

Éda looked frightened. "Where are you going, Zachary?" she asked, dropping her sandwich onto the plate.

Zachary sighed and tried to lighten the mood in his eyes. "I'm going to see if I can do something about this war."

Despite the fright in her eyes, Éda smiled and hugged him. Zachary took her to his bedroom and gave her another hug before turning and walking out of the house and into the violent storm raging outside. He walked mechanically, unsure of what exactly he was going to do. The plan he had written in his journal was so stupid, so suicidal, especially in the rain--but it was all he had, and now that he had set out, he had to finish what he promised to Éda.

Zachary began to run to release his stress, and to reach the field before the two sides resumed fighting. Beneath his feet, the ground made no sound, soaked by rain and covered in mud. His dark hair stuck to his forehead and cheeks, but that meant it was not falling into his eyes with each stride.

The battlefield was closer than he thought, near where his family used to plant the corn. He stopped a hundred yards away to catch his breath and gazed in awe at the small labyrinth of trenches that had appeared in two days. With his breath came the anger that he had kept pent up all eight years of the war--anger that he had only shown in his journal or a rare, private tantrum.

Zachary set his jaw and walked forward, between the trenches into No Man's Land. The wet flag on his left was the Isva flag--a teal pennant with a geometric gold design--and the drooping flag on the left was the Damrey flag--a red banner with an elongated diamond in its center.

The first shout came from the Damrey side, the words in the universal language--they could not know which individual culture's language to speak to Zachary, since he lived on neutral land but looked like a Damrey man from a distance. Zachary pulled two small cards from his pocket, holding each to its corresponding side. The cards had to be carried at all times and marked the culture someone was born into. Each one looked like its culture's flag, and carrying a false culture card was punishable by death.

Zachary swallowed his fear as both sides readied their guns and pointed every barrel at him, shouting orders in their individual languages. He showed his damp face to the Isva trench, letting them see his facial structure and eye color.

"If you kill me," he said to them, "you will suffer by your God." He turned to the Damrey side. "If you kill me, your souls will forever walk this planet." His parents had taught him both cultures, and even after his mother's death during Éda's birth, his father continued to teach both cultures. Zachary knew both cultures as well as the soldiers in the trenches. He practiced neither.

"Out of the way, half-breed," shouted someone from the Isva trench.

"Let me speak to your commanding officers," Zachary said to both sides. "I own this land, so I have the right to refuse you permission to fight here. I demand a ceasefire while we discuss a possible truce on my land."

There was laughter from the men on either side of Zachary.

"I can provide you with warm, dry shelter and food during the course of this meeting," Zachary continued. He did not dare lower the cards to wipe the rain from his face. "As part of both of your cultures, you must listen to me as you would your own friend."

From the Isva side came a creaking as the commanding officer climbed the makeshift ladder and stepped out of the trench. He handed his rifle to one of his soldiers and approached Zachary, being wary of the Damrey soldiers' weapons pointed at him. Zachary smiled at him, trying to ignore the way his white-blond hair made his head seem to glow.

The man offered his hand. "Lieutenant Ellery Lee," he said.

"Zachary Rowland," Zachary replied, taking the Lieutenant's hand. He lowered the teal Isva card, then turned to the Damrey trench.

"We're only getting wet out here, Otto," Lieutenant Lee called to the trench. "What harm could be done?"

The men in the Damrey trench seemed to unite to push their Lieutenant to the front of the trench, where he was forced up the ladder. Picking up his hat from the muddy ground, the Lieutenant stood. His dark pants and coat were muddy, as was the red stripe on his hat.

"Lieutenant Cedric Ott," he said when he approached. He did not offer his hand. "What is this all about?"

"I will do just as I said," Zachary explained. "I can feed and shelter you and your men for a few days while we come to an agreement."

"My men have been out here for almost three months," Lieutenant Lee said. He removed his hat and brushed his hair back before replacing it. "A few days of dry shelter and food would be greatly appreciated."

Zachary turned to Lieutenant Ott. "What do you say?"

"I have no choice," Lieutenant Ott said, staring at his muddy boots. "My men are starving."

Zachary suddenly realized what he had just done. He realized that he was inviting two homicidal Lieutenants and their troops to his home, with no way to keep the peace.

"I have two empty barns," Zachary said, pushing the words out painfully. "You can each have one for your men. You must give me your word that you will not fight while you are on my property. Do you understand?"

Both Lieutenants nodded.

"Where are your supply carts?" Zachary asked.

"I have none," Lieutenant Ott said.

"Me, either," said Lieutenant Lee.

"I swear I heard them earlier," Zachary said, shaking his head in confusion. "Bring your men and your supplies. My house is half a mile from here."

The Lieutenants turned to their trenches and gave the order to follow them. Zachary led the men across the fields, trying not to think about what the hundreds of footprints would do to the ground. He cast a brief glance over his shoulder and saw only a fraction of what he imagined the armies to be.

"Where are all the men?" he asked the Lieutenants.

"We are at war, Mr. Rowland," Lieutenant Ott said, his hands in his pockets as he walked. "Men die."

"But that many?"

"You don't seem to understand the scope of this war," Lieutenant Lee said. "My men have been in dozens of battles, in addition to dying from disease and hunger. Some froze to death over the winter. We have been trying to get back to our base, but we lost the only person who knew the way by heart. He had the map, too. We have no idea where we are or where to find food and shelter. That's why so many of my men are gone. Others around the world are facing the same difficulties."

Twenty minutes later, the group approached the first barn. Zachary turned to the Lieutenants. "Lieutenant Ott, this is the larger barn. You look like you have more men, so you can stay here. I want both of you to meet me at my house over there in an hour. Go inside, get warm, and get dry."

Lieutenant Ott's men split from the group and disappeared into the barn. Zachary and Lieutenant Lee's men kept walking.

"Why do you have two empty barns?" the Lieutenant asked. He took long strides with long legs that were covered in mud.

Zachary felt suddenly bitter. "Your armies have raided them and either stolen or killed our animals. Excuse me for being frank, Lieutenant, but your armies are obnoxious and inconsiderate. Everyone involved in this war is."

"I like your spunk," the Lieutenant said. "And please, call me Ellery. 'Lieutenant' gets annoying after a while."

"This is your barn," Zachary said, motioning stiffly to the large red building in front of them. "Make yourself comfortable, try to get dry. The soldiers who raided us may have left the animal blankets, but I doubt it. Meet me at my house in an hour."

"Thank you, Mr. Rowland." Lieutenant Lee tipped his hat and waved his men into the barn.

Zachary returned to the house, a hundred yards from the barns. Inside, he shivered as he shook his head wildly. He climbed the steps and knocked gently on his bedroom door. Éda opened it hesitantly, as if unsure whether or not it was really him. When her hopes were confirmed, her eyes widened.

"What happened, Zachary?" she asked as he stepped inside the room.

"It rained," Zachary replied with a smile as he pulled his soaked shirt over his head and grabbed the blanket from the bed. He pulled the wool quilt over his shoulders and sat on the mattress. "I'm going to try to compromise with them," he replied honestly. "I can't promise you that it will end the war, though."

"That's okay, Zachary," she said, climbing onto his lap and hugging him tightly.

"I don't want you going outside until they leave," Zachary warned her. He worried that the soldiers would do something awful to her. "You must stay in the house or where I can see you. Promise?"

She nodded.

---

Zachary stood on the porch an hour later. Despite the mid-afternoon hour, the sky was dark with rain clouds; the storm had worsened considerably since he had returned to the farmhouse. Low rumbles of thunder sounded in the distance, accompanied by an occasional crack of lightning.

Ellery was the first Lieutenant to arrive. He came alone, as Zachary had hoped he would. He was drier than he had been before, but he looked ruffled. "This house is amazing," he commented as his boots thunked on the wooden stairs.

"You must be from a city, then," Zachary replied absently. He leaned against the railing and gazed out across the soaked ground. "You don't realize that there are still some people who rely solely on agriculture and what they can grow and produce. You took our animals and killed our crops just so you could feed yourselves."

"And you must be using a plural 'you', because I know I would never let my men do something like that." Ellery positioned himself beside Zachary. "I hope you don't think everyone in this war acts that way."

"Why should I believe any differently?" Zachary felt as well as heard the bitterness in his voice. "You all kill people and you all do what is necessary for survival, even if it means threatening the lives of others."

Ellery scuffed the veranda with his boot. "That's the nature of war, I'm afraid." He sighed.

"The nature of war did not get us into this war." Zachary shook his head absently. "Human stubbornness got us into this war. Ethnocentrism got us into this war. My parents raised me without one specific culture: Even though I look like both an Isva man and a Damrey man, I am neither. My father did not practice the Isva culture, and you killed him last month. He was tending my mother's and brother's graves--there was absolutely no reason for him to be shot. But I don't doubt that I would be any safer if I did something that you thought favored someone else's culture." Zachary could feel Ellery's green eyes boring into the side of his face. "Stop staring at me, Lieutenant. You can't tell me you feel remorse for it."

A wet splashing announced the arrival of the other Lieutenant, who was also alone. Zachary cut the conversation off, saying, "Let's go." He led the two Lieutenants into the house, closing the door when both were inside.

Lieutenant Ott knelt, and Zachary turned to see Éda standing in the doorway to the living room. "Hello, young lady," the Lieutenant said, removing his hat. Lieutenant Lee already had his hat tucked beneath his arm.

Éda smiled shyly, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Hi," she said quietly.

Zachary moved between the Lieutenants and Éda, motioning them down the hall to the kitchen. Then, he turned to Éda. "I want you to stay here until I'm finished," he said before following the Lieutenants to the kitchen. Ellery remained standing while Lieutenant Ott was in one of the five chairs around the table.

"Have a seat, Lieutenant," Zachary said, recalling the way the Isva culture taught guest etiquette. Zachary took the seat at the head of the table, where his father used to sit when he was alive. He had no idea what he was going to say to the Lieutenants.

He looked between them, so different. Ellery had light hair, green eyes, fair skin. Lieutenant Ott had dark hair, blue eyes, and olive skin. Zachary sat in the middle, a mixture of both.

He shifted nervously in his chair and folded his hands. "Why are you and your men out here?" he asked. "Why did you choose my land to fight on?"

"Wouldn't this be your father's land?" Lieutenant Ott asked. His face was open, like his culture taught.

"There was no way either of us could have known whose land this was," Ellery explained. "Our troops simply met up here. It wasn't planned." His face, on the other hand, held the careful reserve taught to Isva children from a young age. Zachary wondered what had happened to the smile he had seen earlier that day on the battlefield. "Like I told you," he continued, "I'm just trying to get my men home alive."

Lieutenant Ott tapped on the table nervously. "I got word that a small Isva regiment was coming this way, and I responded. We waited for them to come, but we were on land that rightfully belongs to the Damrey people."

"I think not!" Ellery said loudly, pushing himself up as his resolve faded. "This land is neutral and you know it."

Lieutenant Ott stood, too. "This land once belonged to Damria."

"Sit." Zachary stood and slammed his fists on the table. He remained standing while they sat. "This land was in Damria ten years ago. Since the countries dissolved, it is neutral land. If you want it, you must claim it, as the law says. Don't give me any shit about this land belonging to anyone except me, understand?" He lowered himself into the chair. "I know I am not an adult in either of your eyes, but that does not mean that I cannot comprehend something this big, and it certainly does not mean that you can act this way in my house after the hospitality I have shown you."

He let a moment of silence pass in the room. "The easiest thing for both of you would be to take your battle half a mile east. There, you'll be off my land and out of my hands. Except then, you won't be fighting over this precious land--the Isva would be fighting to defend their own land, and you are outnumbered by the Damrey. I can't let that happen. I can't let anymore men die because of things I have said."

Ellery lifted his eyes from his hat, sitting in front of him on the table. "What do you propose we do, then?"

Zachary thought for a moment and came up with nothing. "As soon as this storm passes, I want you to fill in the trenches you dug. I want the two of you digging with your men, not simply watching over them. You need to learn how to live for yourselves and not rely on others to do your every bidding. You can go."

Lieutenant Ott stood. "My men are hungry, Mr. Rowland. You said you would feed us?"

"There are extra cases of fruit and vegetables in the cellar," Zachary said flatly. "Bring some of your men and take what you need."

The Lieutenant nodded and left. Zachary heard the door slam shut behind him as he stepped out onto the porch and into the rain. Zachary looked at Ellery, still seated at the table.

"You don't understand the way regiments work, Zachary Rowlands," Ellery said, staring at the table. "You don't understand the way that my men depend on me or the way I depend on them. Things are not handed to me on a silver platter--much the opposite, actually." He looked up. "Don't make assumptions about us. We won't make assumptions about you."

"I'm not making assumptions, Lieutenant. My brother was in the Damrey army until he was killed; he always used to tell me stories about the way his Lieutenants were treated."

"Damrey citizens treat their Lieutenants differently, I guess," Ellery replied. "You must remember that the Isva and the Damrey are different. Maybe in the Damrey army, men are killed for speaking wrongly about their Lieutenants. Did you ever consider that?"

Zachary shook his head slowly, not removing his eyes from Ellery's. "Why do you drop your resolve just to insult me?"

"I have spent years trying to get rid of the resolve for good." Ellery shook his head. "I hate not letting my emotions show. It makes me feel more uncomfortable than wearing my heart on my sleeve. These past few months, I have tried to use it only around my troops, to hold my place as commander." He leaned across the table. "I don't want to become like my parents or my society. I share fear and joy with my soldiers, to bring us closer as a unit. You should understand that."

Zachary sighed, staring at the ceiling. "You should get back to your men. You are welcome to the cellar, too."

---

10th . Achzen

I'm tired of this already; I have been for the past eight years. Lieutenants Lee and Ott? They both think they know what is in the best interests of everyone--a belief shared by every culture in the world--and I'm just sick of it. I don't see what the big deal was with the world ten years ago. I don't see why all countries and governments were disbanded. The world left us to deal with the aftermath of our own mistakes.

My sister, my mother and father, my brother--all my angels and all my demons--they are the result of this damn war. They are where they are because of it. This is not fair. I know that's what everyone says, but it is so true in these days. My generation, the younger generation--we are what it's all about. We are the ones with the power to change the future. We are the ones who can make the changes our parents didn't make.

It's too late. There is nothing we can do. Our parents have fucked this world up so much that it is too late to save it. I can see it now: the children after me, staring at their parents' lifeless bodies as they live in the ruins of an old city, in the aftermath of nuclear warfare. The sky has already been filled with smoke. How long will it be before the sun cannot penetrate it?

I think I'm having a breakdown. I've been due for one recently, especially after Father's death. He would know what to say to me to make me feel better. He would know what to do when I stop eating. But he isn't hear any longer.

I have to hold back this flood, for Éda's sake.

Broken-hearted,
Zachary

---

Zachary saw the heavy clouds through his bedroom window as he closed the journal. The rain had long since stopped, but it was too late for the two armies to do their task of filling in the trenches. Zachary stood and pushed the wooden chair in, leaving the book on the desk as he left. He said a silent good-night to Éda, who was already asleep on his bed.

Outside, Zachary pulled his jacket tighter around his body. The jacket was Jackson's old military jacket, warm enough to keep out the bitter cold of the night and the war. As Zachary walked across the wide lawn surrounding the house, he kept his eyes away from the barns in the distance, where the Lieutenants and their men slept with full stomachs.

Zachary stopped by a large boulder on the outer edge of the lawn. Climbing it, he sat at the top in the natural seat shape he had discovered long ago. He stared between his boots at the grass below.

"I hope you guys are proud of me for trying," he whispered to his parents and brother, buried in front of the boulder. He then turned his eyes to the sky, where the stars fought to be seen through the clouds. Standing, he recalled the old story that he would be closer to the heavens.

Suddenly, something collided with the back of his head, sending him sprawling forward off the boulder. Zachary passed out before he hit the ground, but when he came to a few seconds later, there was a searing pain in his left forearm, which was lodged painfully beneath his sharp hip. Standing above him, Zachary saw two figures, each prepared for the beating they soon gave him, kicking him, hitting him, and roughly pulling his jacket off with no caution paid to his broken arm.

They left as suddenly as they had come, it seemed, leaving Zachary on the ground, covered in mud and blood and screaming as the shock to his arm set in.

After a few minutes, Zachary rolled onto his back and checked his body for injuries using his right hand. Feeling none, he sat up, feeling the movement throughout his aching body. He tried to stand, but fell to the ground before he got the full way up. The second time, he managed to stand, but he had to keep his uninjured arm outstretched to keep himself from overbalancing.

"Zachary!" The shout and accompanying wet footfalls caused Zachary to jump, and he fell backwards into Ellery. "What happened, Zachary?"

Zachary pulled out of the Lieutenant's grip, clenching his jaw as his arm was jolted in every direction. "Get away from me," he growled at Ellery, turning to face him. He did not dare try to walk yet.

"Tell me wha--"

"Your men," Zachary yelled. "Your men happened to me. How could you betray my trust like that?"

"Listen to me, Zachary," Ellery said, staying where he stood. "I did not tell them to…They would never get an order like that from me. Let me help you back to your house."

"No." Slowly, Zachary took step after step until he reached the house. Ellery followed him the entire way.

"I let you stay on my land. I let you eat my food. The least you could do is wait until morning to attack me." Zachary stumbled up the stairs, trying not to let his pain show on his face.

"Please believe me, Zachary." Ellery held the door open as Zachary passed through. "Let me help you."

"Get away from me." Zachary tried to close the door on Ellery, but the Lieutenant was much faster than he was. "I don’t want your help, and I don't want you on my land anymore. Be out by morning." He stumbled slowly to the kitchen, using the wall for support.

"Zachary, please." Ellery followed him.

Zachary wiped blood from his face with a towel. He whirled on Ellery and pointed a finger at him, opening his mouth to speak. His eyes moved out of focus and he blacked out.

---

Zachary's head hurt when he came to, a deep pounding that seemed to rattle his brain. No, he realized. The pain was in his arm, burning and aching and ice cold at the same time. He lifted a hand to his head, withdrawing it when he felt the tender spot near his hairline.

He opened his eyes and looked around. He was lying in his bed, the quilt drawn up to his armpits. It was still dark in the room, but to his right he saw the flickering flame of a candle. Ellery's blond hair glowed in the light as he turned a page of Zachary's diary.

"What are you doing?" Zachary yelled, sitting up. His head spun and he lowered himself onto the pillow again. "Get out of my house," he groaned, eyes closed. The heavy sound of the journal closing relieved him.

"You used to write so much," Ellery said. "Why did you stop?"

"Why do you care?" Zachary opened his eyes. "Get out of my house."

Ellery sat on the side of the bed and gazed out the window. "I found the men who did this to you. They have been punished, and I got your coat back. It was your brother's, wasn't it?"

"What does it matter whose it was?" Zachary asked, staring hard at Ellery. "I told you I want you out."

Ellery blew air out his nose. "You were wearing a Damrey-issue coat, Zachary. You don't seem to understand the paranoia it caused my men because of the war."

"What don't I understand about it?" Zachary raised himself onto his elbows. "I have lost three family members to this war, and--"

"And you're afraid of losing yourself, too." Ellery stared at Zachary, nodding.

Zachary turned his face away. "Get out of my house." He rolled away from the Lieutenant.

"Close your eyes," Ellery said, catching Zachary's shoulder.

"Get out of my house," Zachary repeated, shrugging his hand away.

"Please, Zachary."

Zachary sat up. "So you can do something else to me? You've done enough already. If morning is too early, then be gone by noon. You aren't part of this family and you certainly are not my friend, so just leave, go. You had your chance, and you blew it."

Ellery's face became stony as he fell back into the Isva resolve. He nodded once, then stood. "I immobilized your arm," he said. "I can't do anything about the pain. You should stay here and rest for a few hours before you get up. I'll tell Otto what happened and begin getting my men prepared to leave." He turned and left the room.

Sighing, Zachary let his shoulders sag. He stared after Ellery for a few moments, then jumped out of bed and chased him down the hall, ignoring the pain in his arm and head. "Lieutenant," he called.

Ellery stood with one hand on the doorknob. He turned when Zachary approached.

"Today has tested every nerve I have left," Zachary explained quietly, standing on the bottom step. "I…" He sighed, looking down. "I'll give it one more day. You obviously don't represent every one of your men, and…Just be here for breakfast, okay?"

Ellery nodded, placing his hat on his head before stepping onto the veranda.

---

Zachary's arm still ached hours later. He had not slept, but had instead been restlessly pacing across the living room floor, counting the steps it took him to cross the rug beneath the coffee table and the sofa. For a brief half-hour, he sat in Éda's bedroom, watching the little girl sleep as he tried to imagine what Ellery had done to get her to sleep there--she had refused to sleep in her own room since their father had been murdered.

Eventually, Zachary managed to doze off on the sofa.

Éda's voice awoke him a short while later. "What happened to your arm, Zachary?" she asked, concerned.

Zachary sat up and stretched as well as he could before answering. "Don't worry about me," he said. "I'm fine. Come on, let's go get ready for company. The Lieutenants are having breakfast with us." He led her up the stairs, where he helped her pick out an outfit to wear. Then she helped him, throwing his clothes all over the floor of his room until she found the perfect combination.

There was a knock on the door as Zachary ran the fingers of his uninjured arm through his hair. Lieutenant Ott stood on the porch when he opened the door.

"What happened to you?" he asked as Zachary invited him inside.

"I fell last night," Zachary replied simply. "Come back to the kitchen. Did you see Lieutenant Lee on your way over?"

"I tried not to look," Lieutenant Ott replied, following Zachary. "The Isva culture enjoys being fashionably late, probably."

"Lateness in any form is rude to them," Zachary informed him. "Don't make assumptions about cultures that are not yours. Have you ever thought that may be why we're in this war in the first place?" He dug in the cupboards for something to cook for breakfast, Éda hiding shyly behind him.

The Lieutenant took a seat at the table. "You're very anti-war, aren't you?"

Zachary carefully took four plates from the top shelf of the cupboard. "I have every right to be. Just like you have every right to be for it."

Lieutenant Ott leaned back. "I was trying all night to remember where your name sounded familiar from. I trained your brother, I think. Jackson was his name?"

At the revelation, Zachary's fingers slipped, sending a cup to the floor. Éda screamed as the glass shattered, sending shards in every direction.

"Go wait for Ellery on the front porch, Éda," Zachary said as he lowered his arm from the shelf. When Éda had gone, he said, "You sent him to war."

The Lieutenant was moving around the counter to help clean up the glass. "What do you mean?"

"I mean just what I said." Zachary whirled on him. "He's dead because of you. You sent him out there!"

"He was deployed." Lieutenant Ott stood up. "I had no say in that."

Zachary opened his mouth to say something when Ellery entered the room, Éda holding tightly to his hand.

"What happened?" Ellery asked, taking in the glass on the floor and the distressed look on Zachary's face.

Lieutenant Ott used the distraction to move back to the table. "He's upset."

"Of course I'm upset," Zachary said, following Lieutenant Ott. "How dare you--"

"Zachary, stop it." Ellery caught Zachary's right arm as he passed.

Zachary yanked his arm from Ellery's grip, stepping backwards, the broken glass crunching beneath his boots. Swallowing thickly, Zachary closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his face was set into the blank look of the Isva reserve.

"Sit, Lieutenants," he said, and both listened; Éda took the chair beside Ellery. "I don't know what I expected to get out of this," Zachary said. "I had this naïve idea that I could somehow do something about this war just by getting your men to stop fighting. I have realized since yesterday that something of that magnitude is impossible."

Lieutenant Ott shook his head. "It is a large idea, but it isn't impossible--just far off."

"My men are tired of fighting," Ellery said. "We're all tired of this war, but we have no say in the outcome. This war is never-ending. It will be just as deadly in ten years as it is now, and there is nothing we can do about it. It's the nature of war."

"Don't give me that 'nature of war' crap again," Zachary snapped. "The nature of war has nothing to do with this."

"Then what does have to do with this?" Ellery's green eyes were hard. "You have a Damrey Lieutenant and an Isva Lieutenant sitting in your kitchen without conflict. I would honestly like nothing to do with him, but I am so sick of this damn war that I will try anything to stop it."

Lieutenant Ott's face was stony, his arms crossed over his chest. "You don't seem to understand what being a Lieutenant is like, Zachary. Elly and I both have responsibilities to our men, our superiors, and our cultures. You don't know the consequence for speaking out about this war when you hold a position like ours, at least in the Damrey world."

"We are told to go, and we do it without a hassle," Ellery finished. His voice softened. "Believe me, Zachary--I have never been so wide awake. I have never been this aware or this desperate to do something. The simple fact is that I can't do anything." He stood and pushed the chair in. "I don't see the point in wasting your time any longer. I'll get my men ready to fill in our trenches, then we'll go."

"I'll do the same," Lieutenant Ott said, standing and leaving with Ellery. Éda followed Ellery, and Zachary let her; he felt like he was going to explode.

When he heard the front door slam shut, Zachary knelt and carefully cleaned up the larger shards of glass. Taking one last look around the room to be sure it was empty, he collapsed against the base of the counter, drawing his legs close to his chest. His body ached all over, and he was exhausted, frustrated, embarrassed.

"What have I done?" he asked the ceiling.

---

An hour later, Zachary rode along the damp path that led to the fields where the soldiers were filling their trenches. The old-fashioned tractor pulled a large water tank for the soldiers. Zachary remained stoic the entire journey, prepared for hostel chaos when he arrived.

Instead, he found the soldiers doing just what they were supposed to be doing. Many had discarded their jackets and rolled up their sleeves despite the chilly air. They all spoke amiably about women and the raunchy things they missed about home, but Zachary did not smile at their remarks as he approached.

From the Isva side, Ellery climbed out of the trench, dirty but still as fair-skinned in the sun as he always was. He had tossed his coat and hat in the pile with the other soldiers' garments and had rolled his sleeves almost to his shoulders.

He pulled a cloth from his back pocket and wiped his forehead. "Is that water?" he asked as he tucked the cloth away.

"I figured you would want it." Zachary watched Éda as she noticed he had arrived. She had a small shovel that Ellery must have found in the barn and was trying her best to help the men. "I suppose you have canteens?"

"We do." Ellery watched as Zachary climbed down from the ladder. "Did the ride hurt your arm any?"

Zachary brushed his hands on his pants. "I'm fine."

"Is that water, Elly?" yelled someone from the Isva trench. Zachary could not tell who.

"It is, Connor," Ellery yelled back. "Come fill your canteens."

Even with both the Isva and Damrey men lined up, Zachary only counted twenty-four of them, not including the Lieutenants. Ellery and Lieutenant Ott came last, splitting what was left of the water.

"Thank you, Mr. Rowland," one of the men said as he passed Zachary and Éda. Zachary could not tell which side he belonged to. He watched as the man sat on the ground and laid back, either oblivious or okay with the soggy ground on his back.

Ellery approached slowly, as if he was unsure of his motive. "Could I borrow you for a moment?" he asked after taking a swig from his canteen.

"Sure," Zachary replied slowly. He pushed himself off the side of the trailer and told Éda not to move, then followed Ellery. "I'm glad you're dirty," he said as they walked.

Ellery chuckled. "Otto's worse, I must admit. I don't know why, Zachary, but I have noticed a change in my men. When Otto and I left this morning, we found our men playing soccer with an old ball someone found in their barn. It made me stop and revel in the moment."

"A more innocent way to fight a war," Zachary said, smiling slightly.

"That's one way to look at it," the Lieutenant said, shrugging. He led Zachary along the edge of the trench to the farthest part, where two muddy men dug. Zachary did not remember seeing them lined up for water. "These are the two who hurt you," he said, motioning to them with his canteen. "I don't know if you want to say anything to them or not."

The two men glanced up briefly but continued digging, probably under strict orders from Ellery.

"I have nothing to say to them," Zachary said, turning away.

"Probably a good choice," Ellery commented as he followed Zachary. "They aren't the easiest two men in the world, and I meant that in a strictly professional way."

Zachary smiled, watching his feet as he walked.

"Like I was saying before, though," Ellery continued. "I took a moment to watch the men playing soccer. They were carrying on as if they hadn't been at war for eight years. I think Otto was just as impressed. And that means that whatever you're doing and whatever you have done so far--it's working. You're got two sides on one farm with one soccer ball playing one game."

"Someone was bound to give somewhere." Zachary did not like the way he looked up to see the men taking turns riding the tractor.

"Nobody gave anywhere," Ellery said. "Except on the third penalty shot I saw. But that was purely for amusement's sake." He paused briefly. "No, I think it's the understanding that no matter who we fight for or what we believe, we're all men with families and loved ones and souls and morals. There is not one man here who would readily kill someone unless they had motive."

Zachary smiled cynically. "Yet they're perfectly fine with beating them and stealing their dead brother's coats."

"Come on, Zachary," Ellery said as he was hit in the bottom by a flying handful of mud. "We've walked into a mud war instead of a real war. You can't blame everyone for the actions of two people."

Ducking, Zachary replied, "I am not blaming everyone. Éda, come here. We're going back to the house."

"But Zachary!" Éda whined. "I'm having fun!" She was covered in mud.

"No, come on." He lifted her onto the trailer that held the water tank, shooing away the next soldier to have a go on the tractor.

"Zachary," Ellery said, touching Zachary's arm. "When will you let go?"

"When I see a reason to." Zachary climbed onto the tractor and started the motor.

---

11th . Achzen

I don't think they've left yet. They were messing around so much today that I doubt they were able to finish filling in the trenches. Lieutenant Ott came back for lunch and supper, so they were still there as the sun went down.

I wonder, Journal: If I wanted to, could my faith be true? If I chose one of the cultures, could I put all of my faith in it? There is no one true culture in the world--there are many that claim the title, but no one can say for sure which is. No culture is perfect: some have perks, some have downsides. I guess it all depends on how you're raised. Which makes me wonder that if I did have a culture I accepted as my own, could I not want anyone else's world? Would I be able to accept that my culture wasn't the one I wanted, especially in times like these?

The Isva and Damrey cultures are not that different, as are many others. Both have similar religions, similar customs. They have similar pastimes and foods. The most noticeable difference would probably be their appearances: The dark-haired, dark-skinned, blue-eyed Damrey and the fair-skinned, light-haired, green-eyed Isva.

I always wanted to ask Father if there was any way to get a taste of someone else's world, a way to experience culture outside of the two I was being taught at home. Schools do not teach cultures, Journal. They have strict rules that all students must abide by that favor no certain culture, so there is no reason for anyone to expose where they are from. We all accepted that our cultures were at war, so we kept our mouths shut and told no one. We befriended people from cultures we were at war with--why can't our younger generation use that as a reason for stopping this war? We're too young to live a lie like this.

Ellery has been correct on many occasions, I'll admit. He told me that the men were playing together today, from both armies. I didn't want to take it too seriously when he said it, but now that I've had some time to think about it, he was right: There is a change among them. I can't help but think that it won't remain once they leave, and I know I will be right, but for now, I think I'll end with it.

On a high note,
Zachary

---

There was a heavy knock at the door early the next morning. Zachary slowly dragged himself out of bed, being careful not to wake Éda. He realized it was almost lunchtime, but that the clouds hanging in the sky made it seem darker.

He opened the door on Ellery, who looked frazzled and urgent.

"Get dressed, Zachary," Ellery said. "You need to see this."

Mechanically, Zachary dressed and descended the stairs again. He still felt half-asleep, but the walk woke him up a bit more, especially when he realized Ellery was leading him in the direction of the large boulder in the yard. As they neared, Zachary saw the crowd gathered, including soldiers from both armies.

Ellery pushed through the men to bring Zachary to the front of the group, and Zachary froze. There were three holes in the ground: Two deep enough to hit the lids of wooden caskets, one barely started. The wood on Jackson's coffin had begun to decay, but had not quite to the point of falling in--but that made no difference: all three graves had been consecrated.

"Who did it?" Zachary asked, his voice almost silent.

Ellery led him back out of the crowd and to the opposite side of the boulder. Lieutenant Ott watched over four men: the two Isva men from the trench and two Damrey men, marked by emblems on their left shoulders. All four were on their knees, handcuffed to their fellow soldier.

Zachary stared down at them, torn between shock and disgust. He took deep, heavy breaths in an effort to control his emotions. He had to turn away.

"We've arrested them," Ellery said, laying a gentle hand on Zachary's back. "What would you like us to do? We'll have them fill the holes if--"

"I don't want them near the graves," Zachary said quietly.

"Dear old Mummy and Daddy have come for a visit," one of the men sneered.

Zachary whirled on him, knowing who it was by the direction of the voice. As he turned, Zachary swung his broken arm, hitting the Isva man in the jaw with the hard wooden splint Ellery had bandaged to the injury.

The man caught the blow hard, not seeing it coming. He touched the spot tenderly when he was able to open his eyes again, but could not say anything as Zachary swung his arm again, ignoring the pain shooting through his body with each blow.

Ellery pulled him back, more concerned for Zachary's arm than the soldier's face. "Zachary, what are you doing? Your arm's broken," he said, turning Zachary to face him.

Zachary pulled out of Ellery's grip and ran to the house. Ellery followed close behind, leaving the four soldiers under Lieutenant Ott's control. In the house, Zachary was up the stairs before Ellery could catch him.

"Zachary." Ellery caught up to him in the hallway and pulled him into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry, Zachary," he whispered. "I should have been more careful. I promise you right now, Zachary: I'll try to help you. I'll try to make this world right. Otto and I both will." He leaned his forehead against Zachary's. "But you have to promise to help," he whispered. "Together we can make it."

"I'll try." Zachary kept his eyes closed.

"We can do this, Zachary," Ellery said as he wiped Zachary's cheeks. "We can make it right." He kissed Zachary's forehead and Zachary opened his eyes. Ellery's eyes were vividly green in the overcast light coming from the open bedroom doors, one of which would soon be closed as Ellery lowered the kiss to Zachary's mouth.

---

12th . Achzen

I can't say I'm completely happy with how everything turned out, but I can definitely say that I have more hope than I did before. It will take me a long while to get over what happened tonight, Journal. The two Isva men who beat me got two Damrey men to dig up the graves by the boulder. I don't care what happens to them, just as long as they feel every ounce of pain that I am feeling now, both physically and emotionally.

Ellery told me that he and Ott were going to start gathering people opposed to the war. They were going to take their men back to their bases, then leave. I don't know how long it will be until then, but I know I cannot wait. They're leaving tomorrow. I don't know if sleeping with Ellery was a good thing or a bad thing yet--I guess I will know in the future. I'll know a lot in the future. A lot more than I know now.

Ellery says I should start writing more in these entries, like I did before Father died. I'm trying to, but I can't seem to do it right now. I don't know if it's because I'm nervous or excited or depressed, but I remember how good it felt to put every little detail down on paper, and I want to be able to feel that again.

I guess I'll start a new chapter in this journal: Diary of a War. It's a new chapter in my life anyway, and maybe by the time it's over, the war will be as well.

I spent all night trying to think of what to say here. Technically, it isn't the twelfth, but the thirteenth. I could not think of a good way to end this chapter and this entry, but I think I have one now: I'm looking out my bedroom window, and somewhere beyond the clouds, I can see the morning break.

Hopeful,
Zachary