[h2]Jonah opened one eye. The left one. The right eyelid couldn’t summon the strength to overcome the blood clot that was stubbornly spreading. The smell of smoke and burnt metal seeped into his nostrils, a faint trace of a recent past he could not recall. He didn’t recognise where he was. He didn’t recognise what his left eye was seeing. He recognised nothing, except the pain. The pain was what brought him to an undeniable conclusion: Jonah realised he was still alive.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]He couldn’t remember when or where he had gone to bed, much less the unfamiliar place where he was now waking up. His resting place felt hostile, utterly foreign and unbearably uncomfortable.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]“Did I fall out of bed again?” Jonah wondered, though he couldn’t recall a single occasion when that had ever happened.[/h2] [h2]“Must be my age,” he muttered resignedly.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]His left eye began to scan his surroundings, its movements slow and tentative. It focused on what seemed to be his pillow. It was unbearably hard and an unappealing shade of khaki. Small pieces of plastic were scattered across it, and a gleaming golden badge caught his eye. That small detail summoned his first clear memory since waking: a memory of who he was.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The memory took shape as if conjured by a ghostly hand, pulling him back to a long-forgotten scene. He saw his hands as a boy, small and clumsy, clutching tiny figures of lead. The figures, crudely painted, were coloured khaki and red. The paint mimicked military uniforms, and the miniature lead hands held sharp, threatening weapons. Decades had passed since Jonah had last thought about the toy soldiers of his childhood, but the sight of his current, unpleasant "pillow" brought the memory rushing back, vivid and bittersweet.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]He moved his right hand, reaching out to touch his "pillow". It was cold, unyielding, and heavy as lead. His eye strained to focus on the golden badge, which now seemed unmistakably like a military insignia. Examining his pillow further, Jonah realised it wasn’t a pillow at all. It was the head of a fallen soldier, buried beneath the rubble of what had once been the north wall of the Central Hospital. The soldier's right arm lay rigidly outstretched, his hand gripping a weapon—sharp and menacing—that pointed directly at Jonah's feet.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The khaki and red uniform of the lifeless soldier stirred more memories of Jonah’s childhood. Back then, his lead soldiers painted in khaki and red always fought against another army: those painted in navy blue. The battles had been epic and relentless. There were no truces, no negotiations. The tiny figures fought until one army was entirely vanquished, with no survivors left standing. In those games, Jonah always ensured the blue-painted soldiers lost.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]A deafening noise shook Jonah back to the present, rattling his leaden “pillow”. Dust rose from the ground in a suffocating plume, and out of the haze emerged a platoon of soldiers. These were no tiny figurines. They were flesh and blood, full-sized, and their sharp, threatening weapons gleamed with cold precision. Their uniforms were made of polyester, dyed in navy blue. The soldiers marched past Jonah with deliberate steps, their faces contorted with rage, their eyes bloodshot. Everything about them conveyed a single, inescapable truth to Jonah: the soldiers in blue were winning.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Jonah felt a wave of indignation rise within him, burning away the fog of pain and confusion. The blue army—the one that had always lost in his childhood games—was now victorious, striding past him like conquerors. His aged arm trembled as he stretched it out, grasping the stiff hand of his "pillow". With a strength that seemed to defy his frail body, Jonah lifted the soldier's rigid hand, turning the weapon towards the advancing troops.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The gun was cold and heavy, its weight pressing against Jonah’s weakening grip. But he did not falter. His fingers found the trigger, and with all the force he could muster, he pulled. The weapon roared to life, unleashing a volley of real lead. The bullets tore through the blue-clad soldiers, shattering their heads and torsos. One by one, they fell, crumpling to the ground like broken dolls. Not a single one was left standing.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The weapon slipped from Jonah’s grasp as he collapsed back onto the rubble, his body spent. A faint smile curved across his lips, small but radiant, the kind of smile only a child brimming with life could wear. For a brief moment, his eyes sparkled with a vitality that seemed to erase the years etched into his face. It was the last expression his weathered, battle-hardened features would ever form.[/h2]
