The nameless soldier

I can feel my time coming, dear diary. But I have no regrets. I've lived a long and fulfilled life, with a great family all around me. However, I can't go to my grave with this secret. This secret, that I'm going to tell you, and only you. Perhaps one day one of my family members will find this, and they will learn of it as well. Though by that time I'll be long gone from this world. This is the story about him, the time we spent together in that dreaded battlefield. This is about the nameless soldier.

I still remember that time, when I was still a young journalist. I got sent to the front of the battlefields to cover the war efforts of the Allied forces. They were locked in a struggle against the Japanese army. As I was transported to a relatively 'safe area', I still saw my fair share of combat, and the horrors that war brings. But this isn't about that. This is about him. That man that I met during my first week in the outpost.

As I was still acclimatizing to life on the front lines, I got to know most of the soldiers stationed at that outpost. However, one day when I was walking along an area where an intense firefight took place the day before, I saw someone. Another man, someone I didn't know, was travelling along the area, though the way he moved was...different. Despite dressed as an Allied soldier, he didn't move like one. He moved with a carefree manner, almost with a spring in his step. Almost as if he was happy to be there.

When I got back to the outpost, I asked the other soldiers about him. They snickered among themselves, and told me that "it'd be better if I asked him myself". After getting the directions to his bunk, I decided to approach this man. In his bunk, he seemed as if he was meditating.

"Erm...hi there. Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

He had a look of surprise in his face, but slowly he smiled at me.

"Ah! I saw you in the battlefield earlier! You must be that reporter, right?"

He extended a handshake, which I gladly obliged.

"Yeah, but...how did you know?"

"I know almost everyone here. So when I saw an unknown face, I knew it must be someone from the outside."

He looked young, almost as young as I was (I was around 23 that year). But the most surprising thing was...he looked calm and composed. Most of the soldiers that I saw almost always looked tense. I can't blame them, they live in constant danger, and have to deal with attacks almost everyday. How this man was so calm on the other hand, was a complete mystery.

"If you don't mind me asking...what were you doing out there? And the way you moved, it was different from the others..."

"Aah, don't mind me. I just like to revisit scenes of battles. It reminds me of who I am, and where I come from."

"What do you mean by that?"

Right then, a senior office came into the bunk, and called out to him. He had to go to battle soon, and the troop was heading out. The Axis troops were approaching.

"I'll talk to you later, Mr Reporter", he said with a smile.

"Aren't you afraid of dying out there?"

"It's not my time yet."

I was puzzled by his statement, but I couldn't do anything as he had to go fight. Later that night, I heard that his troop had returned, and there were no casualties. I sighed a breath of relief, and decided that I would find out more about him tomorrow. The next day, as I was approaching him, one of his squad mates stopped me.

He warned me that I should stay away from that man, that the man is some sort of 'freak'. I shrugged off those words, and entered his bunk. His face lighted up as he saw me.

"Mr Reporter! Glad to see you again!"

"Please, just call me Dave. Now, if you don't mind, shall we continue our conversation from yesterday? What was that about who you are and where you come from?"

"Oh, yes, yes! I was found by the army. I have no idea who I am, or where I came from."

I was stunned by what he said. But soon enough I retained my cool, and continued the conversation. It seems that he was the victim of a bombing raid, and was found by the Allied army while wandering around, injured. He has no idea about his name, or where he comes from. The only thing that he knows is war and the battlefield.

His walk around the warzone was his way of paying respects to the army, and to remember the day the army found him.

"So how does the other people communicate with you? They HAVE to call you something."

"Oh, they just gave me a random name, X. I do like it though. It sounds like a code name," he said with a childish grin.

Now, my dear diary, this is where things take a turn for the unusual. Right at that moment, I heard a crowd outside his bunk. As I turned around, I saw a gathering of soldiers, all right outside the entrance. X was not shocked in the least.

"Oh, is it that time again? Please, do come in, one by one. Mr Dave, you can stay here if you like."

Just then, the first soldier came in. X touched his forehead, and then told him that "he'll be fine." For the next soldier, he told him to "remember to carry your flask". I wanted to know what was happening, but I knew that nothing would come from staying in that bunk. I walked out, and asked one of the soldiers in line about the whole commotion.

"You didn't know? X is psychic!"

"Nonsense! What do you mean, psychic?

"It's true! X can predict and tell you if you'll be in danger of death. If he detects something, he will tell them to take extra care towards something, usually the thing that can cause his death."

Seeing my sceptical face, the other soldiers defended his 'ability'.

"X saved my life once! He told me to keep my dogtags in my breast pocket, and they saved me from a stray bullet!"

"Yeah, he told me to avoid bringing any grenades, and later that day, a ditch where I was passing caught fire, no thanks to the gunpowder in the air. If I had grenades at my waist, I would've exploded right there and then!"

I couldn't believe their words. It must've been just some superstition, or coincidence, right? I decided to approach his commanding officer about this, he must know something.

His commanding officer was a stern man, and was also dismissive of X's 'psychic abilities'. He told me,

"To be honest, I don't know if it's true or not. I personally don't believe in any of those things, but the soldiers swear by X's abilities to predict these stuff."

"You're not going to stop this?"

"Stop it? For what? What X is doing right now is helping to boost the morales of our troops. And in this hell of a war, we need all the morale we can get."

I understood his point. This war was a long one, and more and more troops are feeling tensed and depressed by the day. Whether or not X was psychic wasn't really a concern to him, as long as he can keep the morale of the troops up.

I continued in my day-to-day activities, covering the war efforts, while still chatting with X. He seemed really glad to see me everytime. I guess it's not easy to be known as a 'death psychic'. You don't really get much friends. One day, X came up to me.

"Dave, I have had a terrible premonition!"

"What? What is it, X?"

"Dave, you must not go out into the field tomorrow."

"Why not? Will I die?"

"Yes, and it is a most horrific death, Dave. I do not wish for you to get that kind of fate. Please promise me, stay away!"

As I mulled over his words, the unmistakeable swishing sound of helicopter blades broke my concentration. They approached me, and I could feel a certain sense of nervousness as they did so.

"Mr Dave, war journalist I presume?"

"Y-yes, that's me. What could be the matter?"

"We're here to get you out of here. Your assignment here has been cancelled. This area's about to become a hot zone, not fit for a journalist to be around."

As it didn't sound like I had much of a choice, I got into their helicopter and left with them. As we were taking off, I saw X running towards us, and waving at us from below. Now that I think back, for some reason, it felt as if I was his only friend there, and that he was lonely. But...nothing could be done anymore.

The next day, I was shocked beyond belief. The outpost I was in had been the target of an Axis air strike. X was right. Had I stayed there, I would've been blowed up to pieces. I felt a sense of dread. Would I have died if the helicopter had not came for me?

I shook off those assumptions. Nothing could be done anymore. The only thing that I can do is to hope that they survived, and did well in their lives. After that, I did not hear anything about X anymore. Was he alive? Was he dead? What was his real name, and where was he from? Was his ability real?

I couldn't find out anything from official records about the war. It's already pretty hard to explain about an unknown person being drafted, what more a person with no name.

And that marks the end of my account, diary. Until today, I still ponder about X sometimes. Perhaps I might meet up with him on the other side, and we would share our stories.

The Name Stealer

At the lobby, the man walked quickly. Dressed smartly in a navy blue suit, leather shoes, and holding a metal briefcase, he walked with an air of importance and pride around him. Even among all of the professional-looking people in the lobby, he really stood out among all of them.

In a rush as he walked, he glanced down at his watch when he bumped into something.

"Oh, sorry about that," he muttered. After regaining his composure, he looked up towards the person he just bumped into.

A teenager, around 18 years of age, stood there, his hands holding a clipboard with some papers on top. Sensing this chance, the teen spoke up.

"No worries, sir. Would you like to take part in this survey though? It shouldn't take 5 minutes of your time."

Usually, the man wouldn't bother with these things. However, he felt a bit guilty over the bump, so he decided to oblige the teen. Gesturing towards the teen to give him the clipboard, the man took out his pen from the breast pocket of his suit.

As he filled up the survey, the teen took a peek at the form.

"Mr...Alistair, is it? Alistair Morgan?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"That's..quite the unique name, Mr Alistair."

Alistair paused, and looked up at the teen. With a grin, he said,

"Yeah, I'm pretty proud of it actually. The Morgan family has always had unique names, and we always raise up distinguished individuals."

"So...you wouldn't mind if I...take it, do you?"

Alistair felt a chill down his spine. Suddenly, the teen's eyes were cold. Emotionless. As if he was not human. He looked around, but he could not see anyone in the lobby, that was full of people just a second ago. He tried to run, but his legs froze.

From the teenager's body, something similar to tentacles appeared. But Alistair could not take a good look at it, he could only grasp the shape of them. The tentacles appeared to be as dark as night itself.

They reached out to Alistair, surrounding him. They changed shapes, and started expanding, eventually forming a huge sphere with Alistair in its centre. With a snap of the finger from the teenager, the sphere shrunk, compressing itself until it reached the shape of a small cube.

He flicked his finger, and the tentacles brought the cube to the teenager. Slowly, his body absorbed the cube, and a sphere formed around him as well. It shrunk slowly, forming the shape of a man.

The darkness seeped away from the teenager, who now had a new appearance. He took a look around. He was still in the lobby, with people moving in and out in a hurry. No one had even noticed that the teenager was gone.

"Mr Alistair! There you are!"

He turned around, and saw a woman rushing towards him.

"You're going to be late for the meeting! Please get into the car."

As he was being led towards the Mercedes-Benz parked outside, he turned around to look at the lady, and asked.

"What's your name again?"

Nope, not dead yet

Just wanna announce, I ain't dead just yet. Just lazy. Very very lazy. Urghhhh