The Contract Saga, BOOK 2: Story of a Name

Life isn't perfect, so don't expect a perfect story Fiuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu... It all started with that wistling. A sound so simple. Really, anyone in that city could have made that exact same sound, maybe even a better version. Anyone really could have created a song from that simple wistling. Fiuuuuuuuuuuuuu... Alexandra was at the theater. There was a concerto that evening. The Great Orchestra was playing. It wasn't uncommon, but they were the best of the best of the city. They never ceased to amaze. And outsiders were always enchanted. There was actually this story going around that, one time, a man suffering from heart disease came in our town and stopped to one of their concertos. It is said that, during the event, the Orchestra played a song from his youth, a song he had heard hundreds of times in his life, and that they played it in such a way that he had a heart attack. After that the story isn't really clear: some say that the heart of the man started to beat again on its own following the rhytm of the song, others say that he died on the spot because the rescue team didn't come in time. Other people say that he survived up until the very end of the song, his song, and after that he died with a smile on his face. I personally prefered the first option. She didn't hear that wistling. Only what came after. Fiuuuuuuuuuuuuu... Albert was walking down the street, wistling a little tune. He had just graduated, all of his life with all its possibilites was in front of him, even smiling. During his final exam he had managed to play four different instruments. The examinators had been really impressed. He was still wearing his uniform, a hat with a golden band in the middle on his head. It meant he had graduated. People sometimes stopped to congratulate him. He always thanked them with a smile. A shopkeeper waved at him and, when he waved back, tossed at him a set of new strings for his violin. He gaped at the present and, when he looked back at the man, smiled and bowed. He didn't give the wistling much attention. He thought it was him. Fiuuuuuuuuuuu... Herman was just a kid. Well, to his father he was still a kid. He actually went in middle school but, alas, you know how sons and daughters are always children in the eyes of their parents. He had a passion for clocks. His room was full of them, up to the point that people always asked him how he managed to fall asleep at night. Every time that question was asked he simply smiled. After all, how could they understand? The soft ticking and tocking of those beatifull creations could lull him to sleep better than any lullaby. Time was so ingrained in him that he had gained the nickname "metronome boy". He heard the wistling. He scoffed at it. He prefered the sound of his clocks. Fiuuuuuuuuuu... Jenna was talking in her mic. A song had just ended and she and her partner were doing their usual commentary on it. The smile on her face was as bright as the sun. She was a cheerful person, always ready to give you a smile to brighten your day, always trying to find something positive in every situation. But it was when she was working at the radio that she gave it her all. She was always eager to begin and never ready to leave. Four hours of shift a day didn't seem enough to her. But alas, it was that or find another job. There were still rules on how many hours one could work every day. She didn't hear the wistling. And even when she heard what came next, she kept on smiling and trying to make people smile. Fiuuuuuuuuuu... Cubert, Cube for his friends, was playing cards with the other soldiers of his unit. He wasn't good at it. He kept losing. And he was pretty sure his friend Jules was cheating, though he wasn't yet sure how. The woman always found new tricky and interesting ways to win. At some point they had established a new rule: the person who found out how she cheated was the winner of the game. The radio was on. Jenna and her partner were talking about some kind of nonsense. They never really listened to them, prefering the music over anything else. It was in that moment that Jules placed her cards on the table and said: -Royal Flush!- She cheered. We all groaned. She took all the candy on the table. That was another of our rules. We never used money. Not after she had once won four thousand Sonatas in one game. They all heard the wistling. It was the last thing they heard. Fiuuuuuuuu... ████████... (No, I have to forget that name, too much...) ... was walking down a street, window shopping. I had just bought a new clock for my son's birthday. It was a pocket watch he had been interested in for quite a while now. On the upper side it had an engraving representing the "Underground Express", the one and only train that went all around Centralia, the first continent, all the way down to the Underground, the world under the world, and all around those strange islands on special tracks that defied the laws of physics and kept floating all the time. I was a happy man with a wife and a son. With a place to call home, a place that differed from the rest of the world. Just as I did. Just as every single one of the inhabitants of our city did. I passed near a student who had just graduated, which was shown by the golden band on his hat. I congratulated with him and we shook hands. I heard the wistling. I wish I hadn't seen what came next. Fiuuuuuuuuuuuu. ____________ Cubert and his friends were the first of many victims of that wistling that night. And that wasn't even the only one. There were many others, as many as were the bombs that fell over our city. "Why?" That was a question that many asked themselves when the bombs fell, when what remained of the buildings they lived in crushed them alive, when the fires ate at their bodies hoping they would be a better kindling than the rest. While their bodies were filled with lead by the guns of the enemy soldiers. Nobody knew the answer. Even now many aren't sure about it. But I think I know why: because they could. Because it seemed the best course of action to start the war. Alexandra managed to escape by faking her death in that theater. A soldier had shot at her but she had been lucky and the bullet didn't touch anything vital. She crawled her way out passing near the bodies of those that hadn't been as lucky as she had. Some of them were still smiling. Albert wasn't a lucky person. Everything he had ever done in his life he had managed with his own ability. So, when the building fell on him, and that pole went right trough his leg, he did the only thing he could have done in that situation: he bit his lip until he drew blood not to scream and wrenched the pole free from the hole it had carved in his body. He knew it wasn't a good idea, he knew that his blood would then be free to run out of his body, but he also knew that, if he didn't dislodge the thing, he would be stuck there, where many more deaths awaited him. That pole followed him for the rest of his life. Herman wasn't as lucky. One of the bombs hit his house with him still inside. Nothing remained even for the flames to consume. His father, me, after he ran all the way to his house, cried, because he knew for sure that there was nothing left for him to save. Then he killed a soldier, took his uniform, and escaped from that city. Jenna heard all the bombs fall. She looked outside the window that was on the other side of the glass. She saw the fires. She saw the soldiers. She saw the death. And she didn't run. Still smiling, her two colleagues near her, she kept talking. She kept encouraging their soldiers. Then they put a song. That was when the enemies entered the radio. They shot. The bullets didn't so much as scratch the glass. They entered the room. And they found out that even normal civilians of that city could be very good fighters, even without weapons. The song ended and Jenna started doing her usual commentary while she fought with the enemies. They were beasts. But the others were many. In the end her two companions fell, their bodies riddled with holes from bullets and deep, b****y, gashes from the bayonets. And then it was her turn. When the bayonet went trough her lung she coughed blood. Then, in a wisper, she said: -While there's still music we fight.- The motto of the city. Then the soldier pulled the bayonet out. She fell to the ground. The last thing she said was: -I'm sorry.- Then she smiled. That night thousands upon thousands died. They were all innocent souls, but War is never interested in who's innocent and who's not. War's only interested in blood and soot, in screams and tears. War didn't like that battle. There weren't enough screams. Enough tears. There wasn't enough cowardice. There was too much courage, too much resolution. But there was enough blood, and so it made do. After all, everything that he desired would happen in a matter of days. _____________ Hi everyone, zodiac here. More or less one year ago I published the Prologue of my very first book, the "Story of a Mask", the first book of a long series that I decided to call the "Contract Saga". And oh boy I am excited to start anew with this brand new story in a very much brand new universe which took approximatively three days to create. I originally started writing this in September 2020 but, luckily for me, I realized after only two chapter that it sucked, like, really really really sucked. It sounded childish. So, while I nearly threw my computer in the trash out of frustration, I starter anew. I hope you're going to enjoy my story, I'll certainly enjoy writing it. Well, I have nothing more to say so everyone, goodbye and see you all next chapter!