Does this question just concern music, or anything that is beautiful?
This is going to be super weird, and super, super long, so please bear with me :)
Several months ago I was doing a questionnaire for fictional characters. The goal was to flesh out the writer’s character. I did my questionnaire with my Patriot Captain. I did it three times, each time for each stage of his life: before the event of the story, during the event of the story and when the story ends. The guy has a different answer for the same question depending on where he is in life.
And this was when I ended up with this particular question/answer. It was answer by the guy at the end of the story.
Q: What one act in your past are you most proud of?
A: Confronting my past is the act that I’m most proud of myself for doing.
After the trial, I met Alan again while walking to the oak tree. The boy was furious that I was the reason why he lost all his friends. After comforting him for some time, he started to open up and we chatted for a while. He asked me why my clothes were so dirty, which prompted me to tell him about my involvement with the Patriots and my regret of having killed the Lieutenant. Alan was surprised and asked me why I was so remorseful about killing the Lieutenant. In his young mind, the Lieutenant was a criminal for changing side, so I should have no regret in executing him. I suddenly felt a strong urge to defend the Lieutenant (but I didn’t). And that was when I realized: I did not hate the Lieutenant at all. I thought I hated him, but I didn’t. There was definitely something deeper in my presumed “hatred” for him, like what Gertrude had been alluring to me all this time, and it had nothing to do with what he did.
That night, Gertrude entered my room, thankfully. I told her I wanted to tell her about the Lieutenant, the truth about him and the day I executed him. As she asked questions, I imagined the entire scene of that day as if it was happening right then in front of me. I saw the past me leading the soldiers who were marching the Lieutenant to the pole. I saw the past me reading the Lieutenant’s sentence to everyone and asked him if he had any last words. And as soon as I finished, the Lieutenant turned and looked me directly in the eye. Then, with a big smile, he said (I could hear it so clearly as if he was talking right to me then): “Captain, please remember our promise. I’ll be waiting for you on the other side!” I saw the past me stunned in place, lost for words, tears forming in the eyes. A sense of great sadness overwhelmed me – I recognized it as the very same sadness I felt at that moment. I felt a vicious urge to stop with the recollection immediately, as if something life-threatening was coming toward me. But I persisted. I remembered my talk with Alan and my urge to defend the Lieutenant. I had to go on, for the sake of him and me.
As the soldiers looked confused at the past me’s stunned face, and the past me struggled to order his troop to fire, I felt it again: that sense of my chest and throat tightening. I was unable to speak, no matter how hard I tried. I felt like someone was squeezing my throat. No word could get out of my mouth. That was it: the very same feeling I had whenever I thought of the Lieutenant, the very thing that I was trying to avoid. If it had been a few days ago, I would have struggled to fight off this feeling as hard as I could. But I had come this far, I had told Gertrude to walk me through this memory, I couldn’t give up now! I let the feeling take over my body. I felt suffocated. I was unable to breathe. It was incredibly scary and painful, but I tried to endure it. I watched the past me standing motionless, looking at the Lieutenant helplessly while everyone in the execution ground looked at me in confusion.
And just then, I heard it again, as clearly as it was happening right then: the Lieutenant shouted commands for the soldiers to take aim. The soldiers looked at him in confusion. The past me looked at him horrified. He gave the past me a naughty wink then repeated his command. The soldiers, realizing that the Lieutenant was serious, obeyed the order. I looked at the Lieutenant. I saw his piercing look at the soldiers, as if he was ordering on the battlefield. Then I saw it again: he shouted “fire” at the soldiers, and they all fired at him. The Lieutenant didn’t just remind me of our memory together, he even helped me ensure that the execution was carried out properly. It suddenly dawned on me: the Lieutenant’s clearly held no grudge against me for staying with the Patriots at all. He only hated the people that killed his father, not every single Patriot. And that was exactly the reason why it hurt me so much. At that point in my life, I couldn’t fathom the idea that one could be on one side and love his friend on the opposite side. Thus, I was thrown off guard by the unexpected kindness the Lieutenant extended to me and at a loss of what to think or do. Had the Lieutenant shown any hatred toward me, his death would have been much more bearable for me.
I watched the soldiers move away from the scene. I watched people carry the Lieutenant’s body away and the past me look at the scene, immobilized. I slowly realized that I was the only one at the scene to understand the Lieutenant’s last word on a personal level. I was the only one who felt sad for his death. And, as I suddenly realized, I was the only one who had been mourning his death since. Even my routine walk to the old oak tree in that town, it was because I was trying to uphold my end of our promise, by provoking the townspeople into beating me up so that I could join him in death. I was the condemned criminal, the tree was my pole, and the townspeople were my executors.
This whole time, I had been denying that I was mourning for him by antagonizing him as the despicable villain, so that I could remain the hero and the gentleman of this messy story. My hatred for him had nothing to do with his betrayal at all, but everything to do with my own uncomfortableness with the messy truth of the war, my desire for a simple story with a hero and a villain, and my own fear of being the villain in the story. I knew this for a very long time. I was just too scared and proud to admit it.
Before I knew it, I was crying like a girl in Gertrude’s arms and profusely apologizing to the Lieutenant. This was the first time, after almost two years, that I revisited that part of my memory with an honest look. I felt all the sadness and pain I had felt on that day. I had been running away from all these intense emotions. But at that very moment, I wasn’t afraid anymore. I let the sadness run all over my body. I was devastated, but at the same time I felt so empowered, and so proud of myself. I looked my fear directly in the eyes, and it didn’t kill me. For the first time, I wasn’t afraid anymore. I was comfortable to say that I loved the Lieutenant, and that I was sad when he died. I didn’t care what the world thought of him or me. I only cared that I loved him, and I missed him. And for the first time, I didn’t want to die with the Lieutenant anymore. I was alright with mourning his death, while I was still alive.
I consider this the biggest victory of my life, bigger than any victory I’ve had on the battlefield.
I did not cry, literally, but I was in absolute astonishment at what I just saw on my screen. It was as if it was written by the Captain himself and not me. The entire thing astounded me, and scared me a little. Nowhere in the interview did my character become so expressive as this one. In other questions I was totally in control of the answer. But this, this was something else. It had a life on its own! I didn’t think I wrote this at all!
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