Artyom Dereschuk - Hate the Sin

“Yeah, that’s right. Bring her here, boys! Let’s take a look at what I’ve caught” The General smirked, wiping his mouth from blood, and the sinister laugh started spreading through the crowd around him. Not only the girl was young, she seemed to be quite a beauty, which gave his men plenty of reasons to be amused.

When the two men who were carrying her came closer, that suspicion turned out to be true; the girl was well-built, with feminine, rounded hips and firm breasts. Her hands were also soft and without any wrinkles. It seemed that she hadn’t needed to work in the fields or at the river, and her skin had had a chance to remain delicate.

The men lifted her up from the ground so that she could face the General. With a hand still stained by the blood of his previous victim, he grabbed her face and made her look into his eyes.

“Hey babe.” He grinned with his bloody smile. “Who was that old bitch? Your grandma?”

The girl didn’t respond, instead she stared at the General with a gaze full of hate. Homewrecker was impressed by her guts; despite being wounded and caught, she was still brave enough to look the top dog among her captors in the eye without flinching or looking away.

The General laughed: “Feisty one. I think she’s too stunned to see me, boys!” He looked at his men, awaiting their reaction, and it followed; his brigade was a warmed-up crowd and it made for a great audience.

Still laughing, the General flicked his lower lip with a thumb, getting some blood on it, and smeared it across the girl’s face. That caused the intended reaction: she flinched and whimpered.

“That’s more like it” The General grinned, wiping some more blood from his face and smearing it onto her. “Not so high and mighty now, huh? That’ll teach you how to be a stuck-up bitch. You two! Come here, you’ll hold her legs.”

Two more men approached and stood next to the General. One of them handed him a knife and, despite the girl’s struggling and resisting, he grabbed her dress by the collar before cutting it in one swift, refined motion.

“Whoa,” Homewrecker heard someone next to him exclaim. Marlboro Man was staring at her with eyes full of unparalleled awe. Her beauty captivated him to such a point that he seemed to be barely even aware of the reality of what was going to happen to her in a moment.

Her cries resonated deeper in Homewrecker’s mind; the dulling effect of drugs was wearing off, and the weeping of the girl in front of him was slowly bringing more and more memories into the spotlight of his mind. Memories of people crying, screaming, and begging.

He took one more look at the scene in front of him, and the events transpiring there were too much for him. He turned around and started to leave.

“Hey, where are you going? Don’t you want to try and get some yourself?” one of the men asked him, patting his head. But the boy just pushed his hand aside and continued walking through the crowd.

As he kept on walking, the sounds of death and misery around him were getting louder, more focused, gaining shape and emotion. He closed his eyes and ears, but even through his palms he could hear the loud female scream coming from where the General was. The scream of realization of what had been committed. A scream of loss, pain, and powerless fury.

No matter how hard he tried, Marlboro Man couldn’t shake off that tingling feeling in his stomach. It was unfamiliar to him, and whenever he’d focus on it it would spread throughout his body, making his heart feel heavy and breath feel dry. It would feed his imagination with ideas and sceneries that were not becoming of a true warrior like him—the concept of conquest was quickly crumbling under the weight of sweet surrender.

And at the center of those dreamscapes was always her.

It had been a week since they’d raided that village, and yet he couldn’t throw the image of her pristine body out of his mind. The features of her face haunted his dreams, only in those dreams she wasn’t scowling—she was smiling at him. Sometimes she would hug him, and sometimes she’d do something more, but she was always happy to see him. And each time he’d wake up he would feel the same sense of frustration that she was not with him.

He didn’t talk about his dreams to anyone; the others would make fun of him till the end of their days if they found out, and he couldn’t afford that. From what he had seen, the adults had a different approach toward women—it was brutal, straightforward and one-sided. But he didn’t feel like that’s how he wanted to proceed with her. On the night he first saw her, he didn’t approach her—even though he had such a chance after the General was done with her. His heart was aching when he was looking at the other hands on her. He wanted her all to himself, but he knew that it wasn’t possible in their brigade. Guns and cigarettes could be personal belongings, but women were seen as a public commodity. It would never work out.

And yet with each day he wanted to see her more and more. With each day, her image in his memory was not getting hazy, but grew on its own, picking up more and more details from his imagination.

Finally, on the eighth day, Marlboro Man woke up full of determination: he was going back to that village to see her once more. Even if it was only from a distance, he needed to refresh his memories of her. Strengthen her image with a healthy supplement of the real deal.

He spent the rest of the day anticipating the moment when he’d have his chance to sneak out of their camp and go see her. Tsetse had been extra cautious of them throughout that whole week—no doubt wanting to make sure that the raid didn’t give them any ideas about whether staying in the brigade was worth it. But Marlboro Man knew that, unlike the fly he chose to be named after, Tsetse had only two eyes. He couldn’t possibly follow everyone. And if the day passed without any orders from the General, then it would be unlikely he would suddenly decide to make another move at night—their raid on the village was an exception that had happened only because of the man’s short temper. When the evening would come, all of the adults would be too relaxed to even care where he was, and their most immediate concern would be the set of cards in front of them.

Plus, Marlboro Man dreamily noted as he was slipping into the tall grass, it was likely that she would come to bathe in the river. He had only heard from other boys that women did that, but he was not losing any hope.

As he was heading in the direction of the village, he was thinking over what was he going to do if he were to meet her. Would he greet her, tell her that he wouldn’t hurt her? That might be a good idea, all things considered, but would she believe him? And if he were to confess his feelings to her right away—would she accept them? He wanted to believe that that was the case, but he was not sure.

And if she’d accept them—then what? He couldn’t take her back to the camp, that was for sure. But if she was truly the one, if they had any chance to be together—what would he do?

His heartbeat quickened at just the thought of it, but, nevertheless, he explored that opportunity further. What if he were to stay there with her? Or perhaps, if staying in the village was dangerous, what if they were to run away together? Somewhere far away? The thought of leaving the brigade was scary, but surely she would understand then how much she meant to him that he would be willing to leave his warrior ways behind for the sake of being together with her? Surely, if he were to proclaim that her beauty made him a new man she would succumb to his claim on her?

The roofs of the houses in the village were already visible in the distance above the tall grass. It was no more than a few minutes of walking. Marlboro Man stopped one last time and took a deep breath, hoping that it would help him calm his rapidly beating heart.