Conscripts

Some of us remember our parents. At age four we became wards of the state. We are the ones chosen to protect our families and our nation. At an early age, we are all the same, silly children playing games. Carefully chosen games sure, but don’t think that we were raised on misery and conflict. We are the conscripted.

Very soon though, we begin to see the difference between us and them. They grow quickly, soon towering over our heads at age 8. They are more agile than we are, they are even smarter than we are. They will become the Warriors, while we will man the Hunters, Cruisers and the Demolishers. The Kelahn, the priests, teach them not to push us around, that we are brothers but they are angry by nature. I am only glad that before the change, my best friend was Aheshpei, who I watched slowly become one of them. He took care of me, calling me little brother, even though I was a year older.

Over the years, I put a few things together. Aheshpei and the others like him could not remember their fathers if they had them. They remember younger brothers but never sisters. The Kelahn did not like us talking about it. They seemed to know when Aheshpei would start to talk about his life before 4 years. They would come and split us up, give us more work to do.

None of the others the ones who became Warriors could remember their fathers except one. Cheshah who was younger than us by four years remembered his father. He remembered a kind man that loved his mother dearly and that he loved to take Cheshah out to play. He remembered men from everywhere would run up to his father and ask for help on this matter or that. Cheshah’s father would talk with them and hold crying children. He doesn’t remember much about those conversations, only one word, the men would call his father Kelahn, priest.

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