From Cluster of War the Ecstasy Born
“War is organized murder, and murder is murder, whether it is done by one man or by a million.” — Mark Twain
World War I raged for four years like a ravenous beast devouring the land and its people. Civilians suffered heavy losses, both in lives, economic and psychological hardship. The promise of freedom and defense rang hollow as peace remained elusive. This is not just a war story, but also about the deepest recesses of human consciousness, where reality and fiction blur. May we see our true size among the stars in the wake of this colossal tragedy.
Thomas Isaac, one of the greatest Royal Air Force pilots, was credited with shooting down 68 enemy aircraft during his career, making him the leading British ace of the war. He was known for his daring and aggressive flying style, which earned him the Distinguished Service Order, the Military Cross, and the Victoria Cross before he turned 25. Today, he was promoted to the rank of major and appointed to lead one of the wings, but he did not see the headquarters message that arrived to inform him of his promotion and order him to stop flying due to his busyness with a solo maneuver near the German border. He faced three enemy aircraft, he could have withdrawn, but the ecstasy of shooting them down was irresistible. He was a fearless warrior, raised in the aftermath of his father’s death in the Boer War. His father had once told him, “Only the dead have seen the end of war.” The war robbed him of everyone he had ever loved, leaving him driven by revenge. He joined the army at the age of seventeen, determined to defend his country and kill his enemies in the most savage way possible.
Pride drove Thomas Isaac into an epic battle against the Germans on this sunny February afternoon. Trained to spot artillery and fire at them unseen, he dived vertically toward the German formation, disappearing behind the tail of the first plane. He fired and shot it down. The other two planes noticed him, circling and exchanging fire. Thomas held his position between them, a ghost fighter. But his plane deteriorated from the high energy consumption, and he couldn’t shoot down another. He shouldn’t have entered this maneuver, but yesterday’s bombing over his country made him seek killing like a dog gnawing garbage, leaving his mind behind. Thick smoke rose from the right wing. Thomas realized his plane would crash. He put his hand on the ejection lever, but a strange object in a beam of sunlight caught his attention and captured his mind. He saw a soldier dressed in a dark blue military uniform, carrying a Mauser rifle and riding a brown Pegasus horse. The soldier saluted Thomas, then vanished into the sunlight.
In the meantime, Thomas found himself about to crash into the ground, but not the ground he knew. It had another form, like a carpet woven with liquid fabric. He passed through it into another realm, his being shaken. He found himself in a reality with no land or sky, only a limitless expanse of blue surrounding him from all directions. There was no horizon or in between, and there was no sound at all as if he had lost this ability. He lowered his head to look at his body with wide eyes and saw the impossible. His body was naked and ethereal. Through the transparent skin, he glimpsed the complex mechanism of life: the shattered organs miraculously reconnected themselves. His left leg, which was missing, was now growing back like a shrub growing after being cut down. The rhythm of his heartbeat defied all earthly norms, steady, inexhaustible. As the colors changed inside and outside of him, his essence became brighter and more radiant. There was no doubt: that he had crossed the threshold to the afterlife.
In that boundless expanse, he sought anomalies within the cerulean void. No compass points guided him — only the unending blue stretched before his eyes. Suspended in this Blue cosmos abyss, he marveled after his leg’s regeneration. With resolve, he lifted his legs and kicked, a minuscule displacement — a mere quarter inch — against the void’s inertia. Twice more he defied the unseen force, inching forward, yet always drawn back to his origin. He doesn’t know where should go or what will happen next and has no one to take orders from. His limbs, like celestial marionettes, obeyed their cosmic strings. A breaststroke motion intensified his struggle, but resistance swelled proportionally. And so, suspended in this celestial tug-of-war, he remained tethered to that immutable point in infinity, dehumanized, waiting for what would happen next.
After a few minutes, the blue veil dissolved, revealing a tapestry of Thomas’s life. He watched as his earliest memories unfolded before him like a silent film played on a celestial screen. There was his father’s embrace, his first steps, whispered secrets, love, loss, and the game of war that had passed aimlessly before his eyes. He realized that he had been a puppet, moved by the ropes held in the hands of those who legislated war, at a time when he could have been freed. With each passing scene, the emotions of his earthly life faded like morning fog. By the final frame, his body was fully regenerated, and his mind was unburdened by earthly ties. Suspended between cosmic arms, he flared anew, a star reborn from a heavenly cluster, awaiting its next phase.
THE END.
