Helm Rennstall

A young man lies bleeding on a battlefield; he prays for life but knows they will be ignored. Too late does he realise his actions were crimes against humanity, his sins will never be forgiven now.

 

The medics find him and just barely manage to drag him away to safety, to put pressure on the wound, to clean and dress it; they said it was useless and that he was already dead.

 

He was so close to death, the doctors couldn’t believe how rapidly he healed, they explained that he couldn’t go out to fight again, and joked that the prayers he babbled throughout his fever must have been answered.

 

He wondered to himself who they were answered by.

 

Many of his friends had died in the war and he gave his children their names, he finally married the mother of his children, and he lived for his family, despite the weakness that would come over him from time to time.

 

In work he was successful, he became rich and could afford luxuries for his family, a bigger home, a better lifestyle, he did all he could for his own.

 

His weakness would come back more often as he grew old and infirm; sometimes it was hard to wake him. His wife often worried that she would never be able to wake him again. She knew his time grew short and she prayed for him.

 

However it was he who should have prayed for her as age took her.

 

The children were all grown, they had families themselves and they were successful in work and business.

He knew by this that his time was soon, he looked back upon his life as he wrote his will, leaving everything to his children, their families, hoping they would do as well with it as he had. Hoping they never know need or desperation.

 

“It’s time.”

“I need to finish this.”

He signed the will and looked up from the page into the mirror.

 

Two figures stood.

One, man he met many years ago, he’d made a desperate bargain with him upon the battlefield and thanks to this man he lived his life, safe with his wife and family.

The other was the boy he once was, the boy that would have died in that war.

 

He stood and turned to face his soul.

“I never did miss it.”

“They never do.”

 

He shook his younger self’s hand, the touch seemed to shock them both, and the older body fell to the floor. The soul became animated, alive with the memories of the man, he grieved for his life, looking upon his previous body.
 

The Devil walked with the soldier’s young soul now his side of the deal was done.