Chapter Eight: Suicide is Painless:

-Outside-

The horrors of war is catching up to the islands. Michael has captured the truth with his camera. Classy buildings destroyed by bombings, gunfire, and fire. He grew used to seeing dead bodies on the battlefield. This war would be no different. Like all wars, the enemy was not some devil with horns and a tail. Both sides didn’t look like demons or monsters. These were human beings. They had homes and families to go back to. Some would never see either one. Those that did would not be the same again.

Days before his vehicle got blasted, Michael was out on assignment. He got to know some of the soldiers on the neighboring warring islands.

“So who is the enemy?” he asked. The nineteen-year-old boys in the truck couldn’t really answer him.

“We don’t know,” one of them said. Michael gave them a strange look.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Aren’t you the good guys?”

“We are?” another young soldier asked. The freelance photographer’s jaw dropped.

“You don’t know what you’re fighting for?” he asked. The young soldiers didn’t even have an answer for that. Michael frowned as he got an idea of how this war was unfolding.

“Do you even know how this started?” he asked. He didn’t expect to be filled with a sea of chatter.

“Okay, okay!” Michael shouted as he put up his hands. “One at a time! One at a time!” None of the stories really made sense to him. He gave them a fake nod of understanding.

“I see,” he said. Once again, Michael saw that war didn’t make sense. Still, taking photos of battle zones around the world paid the bills. He never gave it another thought. That was until moments before the truck got bombed.

“Mr. Michael,” another young soldier spoke up. “Why do you take pictures of war?” Before the photographer could answer, the truck was bombed. He and only four more soldiers were still surviving. The question still lingered in his mind even in Creila, on recovery.

While on this neutral island, Michael couldn’t understand what was going on around him. The people here wanted nothing to do with the horrors of war happening around them. The youth would change the subject when he asked them questions about it. The elderly politely told him they had no comment.

“People don’t like talking about wars in this island,” one of the doctors told him. “They have seen enough of it in the past.” Michael tilted his head at him.

“So, you just ignore it altogether?” he asked. “But why?” The doctor cut him a sharp look.

“Life is too short, you know?” he asked. “I would rather see our youth growing and prospering than dying for money.”

“But what if your home comes under attack?” Michael asked. The doctor finished writing on the chart.

“We have means to protect our lives and homes,” he answered. “We don’t need a war to do it.” The doctor pushed up his glasses. “Honestly, war is just money for blood.” He noticed the odd look on Michael’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t mind the rambling of an old man.”

“Did you lose someone in war?” Michael asked.

“Ah, my young brother and older sister,” the doctor said.

“What happened?”

“We were visiting our favorite aunt during WWII. I remember that it was a summer day. My little brother went out to play in the yard. An Italian plane had mistaken that island for enemy territory and dropped bombs.”

“Your brother got caught in the blast?”

“Correct.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“And your sister? What happened to her?”

The doctor sighed as he lowered his chart. “Our brother’s death really tore her up. She couldn’t take it and slit her wrists in the bathtub.” He lowered his head. “Excuse me.” The older man walked out of the room as he could feel the pain of old memories build up in his heart. Michael happened to look and see a nurse glaring at him.

“What?” he asked. The pretty dark-haired nurse snorted.

“The doctor doesn’t want to be reminded of such trivial things!” she snapped.

“I only asked him a question!” the photographer said. “Why are you getting angry at me?”

“You Americans should learn to be more considerate!” the young nurse barked. She turned and stormed off. Michael laid back in his bed. What the heck? That’s the third nurse that snapped at me for asking questions about war. The photographer looked up when he heard chuckling next to him. Another journalist covered his mouth.

“What?” Michael hissed. The journalist shook his head.

“Just give up,” he said. “Nobody likes war on this island.”

“Well they don’t have to be rude about it,” the photographer said.

“Sorry, that’s just how they are around here. They don’t like conflict. The locals are a peaceful people.”

“Yeah, I can see that…” Michael mumbled. The island of Creila might as well have been another planet to him. The people were too nice around here. No one wanted to talk about war or dying. Michael shook his head to himself.

“These people are too nice are a time like this,” he said. “It just can’t be good for them here.”

War spills blood and eats up money. What does it all cost? Lost lives, damaged property, time wasted, and all for what? Those pulling the strings don’t think about all of that. They just live in the moment and plan out their attacks. The big shots at the top don’t think about the soldiers’ well-being and families. The same thing is said about the enemies’ well-being and families. To the top, the enemy has no face or soul. It’s just a game of who can do the worst damage to the other side. The big shots don’t really see or know how the war will end.

Whether which side wins, life on Creila has to go on.