Soldier's return

Some of the other men take refuge inside the cathedral. Religion
provides a comforting ritual for the terrified, confused soldiers. Once
again they had tried to convince him to join them, but, as they has
known he would, he had declined their offer. He can imagine them, tired
knees on a cold, unforgiving stone floor, heads bowed, hands clasped in
desperate prayer. He idly wonders if they would pray for him. This is a
thought which does not enthral him, the hypocrisy of them praying for
him to clear their own consciences, not concerned with his salvation or
eternal damnation but their own, sickens him.

He paces agitatedly, like a caged animal, concentrating hard on the
gloomy shape of the cathedral that is slowly receding into the
stealthily creeping darkness. He feels the irresistible pull of the
great building, drawing him closer. He skulks angrily around the
menacing shell now looming out of the stifling inkiness, circling it,
each circuit bringing him imperceptibly closer. He finds himself
hovering reluctantly at the gaping doorway, its once heavy, imposing
oak door splintered and broken by the shuddering shellfire. He can see
points of light pathetically flickering in the all consuming darkness,
serving only to cast huge shadows, adding to the gloom. The faint
mutterings of garbled, frantic prayer floats endlessly through the
cold, shadowy, cavernous emptiness of the cathedral.

It is all too familiar, yet horrifyingly distant. So much else has
changed yet this place seems to have been almost perfectly preserved,
encapsulated in another time, that wistful 'before'. He knows that is
the attraction for those men frenetically searching for their god in
their in there. They are desperate to leave the world that they know
faces them out there, beyond the false security of this great building.
He also knows that he should join them, escape the horrors that face
him, exorcise the nightmares that he has known and prepare himself for
the terror he undoubtedly yet has to face, prepare himself for the end
that he will inevitably meet. But he cannot reason with the demons that
torment him and prevent him from seeking the salvation he so
desperately needs. Not in this place, not here, not now. This place can
offer him no sanctuary, this is the stuff of his nightmares, his
memories form here stalk and haunt him. A place of religion and
worship, this holy place, this hell.

Nobody had told him what was happening. People rushed around him, a
twirling mass of chaos and confusion. He sat in the window, small and
confused, surrounded by a mass of heavy, black, musty cloth, swamped in
a suit borrowed from a boy several years older than him. The suit's
jacket hung almost to his knees and dangling sleeves swallowed his
hands. He waits quietly, patiently as he has been taught to do, the
unfamiliar surroundings and people making him uncharacteristically shy,
the strange hushed voices pressing upon his chest so that he hardly
dares to breathe.

He stands there, perfectly still, hardly breathing, waiting. Time
stands still. He could stand here forever, thinking, remembering. He
feels only cold and empty in the endless dark emptiness. He stands, and
unconsciously romantic tortured figure, framed by the doorway, trapped
between his past inside and his future outside. The small. The small
clusters of flickering candles begin to move, together, at an invisible
signal. Shadowy pale faces begin to emerge from the black abyss. All
eyes are lowered, too afraid to meet, ashamed of their ephemeral,
glittering glaze. They shamble, exhausted outside to the other promised
sanctuary of sleep. They all ignore the solitary figure in the doorway.
They don't want to know, they have their own feelings, memories,
mortality to contend with. They have no words of condolence left;
nothing they can say can alleviate his suffering. They have no doves of
hope to offer him; they all flew so long ago.

Looking back on it afterwards he had never been sure if he had been
sitting there minutes or hours. Nor could he be entirely sure how long
the gentleman had been sitting next to him before he became aware of
him. As he slowly became conscious of the presence sitting awkwardly
beside him he slowly and reluctantly dragged himself away from his
dreaming and began to focus upon the shape that had appeared next to
him. He did not immediately recognise the face that as looking so
intently at him and he struggled to remember why it seemed vaguely
familiar. He smiled up at the face with relief, at last someone he at
least dimly recognised, and although the face smiled back it did so in
a tired, strained way. "Now then" the gentleman began, rather abruptly
and gruffly, before he stopped suddenly and cleared his throat. "Who is
going to look after you." Although the words made a question, it did
not seem like the gentleman was asking him anything, but he wanted to
clear this all up now that he had been given the chance. "Sir, if you
could just help me find my parents, they look after me fine." His voice
trailed off slowly as the gentleman's previously stony face looked
shocked and then grew gradually blacker and stormier. He flinched away
slightly in horror, "What I mean sir," but the gentleman had stood up
heavily and swept, rather magnificently into the centre of the room,
leaving him mouthing pathetically. In a voice that commanded immediate
respect, and carefully enunciated to turn the blood cold, so that
everyone heard every word, the gentleman growled 'Why has nobody told
the child?" The room fell deathly silent, and taking one look at the
sea of shocked, pitying faces, staring blankly at him, without knowing
why, he began to scream.

He is, finally, completely alone. He makes his way slowly, painfully up
the aisle. His boots pound heavily on the stonework and the echoes
reverberate like cannon fire in the darkness. After a lifetime of
faltering steps he falls violently to his knees in front of the altar.
In the complete darkness he kneels and waits. The place where twenty
years ago he said a final goodbye to his parents he now prepares to say
goodbye to his own life. Tomorrow the battle will begin.