#hexydreamjournal

The chubby kid next to me seems calm, however the shivering, lifeless woman on my left is not.

The officer has arrived with each step light as a feather, but a feather of a hawk as it falls to the hard concrete ground, echoing sternness and authority even more so in the silenced crowd.

The officer wears a cotton white shirt and a cool black suit pants, looking ordinary but not too humble to be mistaken as a low ranked kiss-ass man in the lowest chain of command. He has a constant smile on his face, but not in his eyes.

I used to know that smile.

He used to smile like that when we were training together under the sun. It was warm as the sun and calm as the river. His eyes were proud and soft. The sun is harsh in the summer days, but it was going easy on us, just for us.

Standing there on top of the crowd, his eyes is even colder than the steel from which our training swords were forged, and still as those of a gargoyle. 

.

After a “parade” of completely unnecessary training exercise orders and silent threats to test how far his ridiculous power can extend and oppress any harboring ideas to rebel against him and the system, he moves on to the next phase of the domination: Elimination.

We were tortured mentally more so than physically, even now. He seems to enjoy making it up as he go, a game after a game, carried out by his minions, to pick out one winner of the death prize for each game. 

I dared myself to look straight at him in the eyes, the distance is just a few lines of people. It is no doubt that he can spot me in the crowd, nevertheless he decides to ignore me or not I do not know. 

His eyes were giving off a faint cadmium orange aura, just enough to thinly veil the brilliant black iris underneath. I knew he was under their influence. Not so secretively, I put my hands together and pray that this will be one of those troupe in the movies where the hero manages to break off from the geas put on by villain forces and redeem himself.