The Stoic Spartan Page #3

A “stoic” Spartan experiences the 5 stages of grief after the death of his friend.

• Short story

								

“…what must I do to keep you quiet?” I plead.
“I’m hungry,” I should’ve anticipated. “Black soup is not enough.”
“What would you want?”
“Instead of pig blood’s soup, I want the pig.”
“What?” I gather every energy I have to glare at him one last time. I don’t believe he can consume a whole pig, but something about his manners challenged me. I would do anything to make him stop whatever he’s doing to me. He knows it. “Alright, I’ll heed your bargain.”

To my horror, there is a trail of blood leading to the entrance of my tent. 
I rush inside. “Boy, are you alright?!” There he lies in a fetal position on the mat, from head to toe, blemished in thick and deep red ooze, his tunic dyed pink. 
I pulled his head to my lap. He’s grown heavy, heavier than a pig. When he opened his eyes, and I studied his apathetic expression, how grim it appeared with blood painted around his mouth, down his neck, and all over his hands. “Speak to me.” 
“You bargained for I to keep quiet,” He croaks.
“You…” This isn’t his blood, I recognize the odour, the hue. Pig’s blood could be confused with human’s, but I know Crispinus as well as I know mélas zōmós. He consumed the whole pig. As if he clawed his way in. Where is its carcass? Its bones?
How did he consume it?
If so…what is he?
Is it too late to ask? 

“You said a warrior dies to achieve honour,” Crispinus said. I cannot deny it, nor do I have the energy to. It is clear as stars that the boy I’ve fed, time and time again, grew four years big enough to become the Crispinus I last knew. Every detail, from the scars he received to the way he’d writhe. He perfectly impersonated Crispinus, and I am helpless to it. “Why can’t you achieve honour while you’re alive?”
“If you’re alive, you have to keep fighting.”
“Your friend, does he have honour now? Since he’s dead?” I remain quiet. “If I were your friend, I would want to live.”
“Really? To do what?”
“To eat.”
“Eat what?”
“Anything tastier than mélas zōmós!” He sings, reclining on the bed. “I’ve had a taste of pig’s blood! Now, I wonder what human tastes like!”
I gaze up at him from the floor, “…you can’t eat human.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re human.” Then, I hear a low chuckle.
“No, I’m not!” My heart skips.
Why has my body gone cold and numb?
I can only gulp, deciding to speak. “Wha…what are you?”
Silence.
Then he exclaims, smiling. “I’m your friend, Crispinus!”
I am horrified. I have never seen him smile before. Not this Crispinus.

“I’m hungry.” He already had two pigs. “Two pigs are not enough, I want more.”
“More?” I whispered.
He has come closer, hunkering to my level.
“I want human’s blood,” He smiles. “I want human!”
“No…you can’t.” My chest feels crushed after saying that. Why must I disappoint him? How depressing.
“AGHH!” Suddenly, he screeched. I watch him squirm, his head in his hands, shadow dancing above me. What happened?
“Stop it—“ I go to tussle him, restraining his arms from hurting himself. I managed to tie him down with ropes within my vicinity. Yet he keeps thrashing. I need something stronger. Chains. I scurried out of the tent. 
This is all my fault, he is in pain because of me.
Between the two of us, he would have deserved this status. For I don’t deserve to be commander. 
I don’t deserve to be here.
It should’ve been me.

“HELP!” I hear a different voice screech. I rush back.
Crispinus is free from his confinement, wrestling a warrior to the ground.
“What’s gotten into you, Commander?!” The warrior cried. The boy I kept has attacked an innocent bystander.
“I’m sorry!” Was all I could say as I grappled with Crispinus, hauling him further away. With great endurance, I managed to seclude us within the deep forest nearby.
“LET ME GO!” I’m so pathetic and weak. “I WANT HUMAN!” He screeched. I only heard voices, a combination of child, pubescent, adolescent, and adult voices. All four of Crispinus’ voices, screeching at me. The more these voices reached me, the worse this pang in my chest. This pain.
I grab his shoulders, shaking him. “WHY HUMAN?!”
My exhortation seems to shock him, for he has somehow quietened. 
He studies me, and smirks. “…you’re human.”
I’m scared.
“You can’t eat me…I-I’m your friend.” I step back.
“I bet my friend tastes great.” He hoists my torso and slams me to the ground. I yelp.
“Crispinus, please!” I grappled as he hovered over me, about to do to my neck what he did to that warrior. He is so strong. When have I let him grow this strong? This is no use, no matter how I denied, lashed out, and bargained, he would never heed me. What must I say for him to heed him? What does he want? Does he want what I want?
What do I want?
“Come…“ I whisper. “Come back to me.” I find myself begging. If he comes back, will he stop hurting me? “What must I do for you to come back?” 
“Give me your flesh,” He said. “No. Your soul.”
My soul? Why my soul?
“A soul is what makes life.” He breathes, “You don’t even want your life.”
He’s wrong, why wouldn’t I want my life? 
“You want to give it away.”
However, if he asked, I would do anything.
“Yes, so give me what I don’t have anymore.” What? Will he have life again once he’s taken mine? “How dare you flaunt your precious life? If you’ll give your life away anyway, give it to me.” He husked, blood bubbling from within his rotting internals, dripping onto my cheeks. “I need it more than you.” He’s right. 
You’re right.
I would give it away, for honour, for glory. If that’s so, take it. I always asked what else could be achieved if I gave my life. All this time, I’ve fought unwillingly. But as of today, underneath him begging for life, a sight I’ve never seen Crispinus, I’ve never seen a warrior beg for his life. I would do this for him…fight for him, to see him achieve life again. That is what my mind— no, heart says. I was a disguised Spartan. Amongst my peers, I knew I wasn’t right. Now, I finally understand what it means to be a warrior, to be in love with death.
Will this answer the question? Will this make me right?
“Crispinus…” I call his name, and I remember the day I did for the last time. Something’s changed this time. I can feel stars, twinkling down my cheeks. It’s a shame I can’t see them, it felt relieving, like lying down after a long day of trotting, or the first sip of fresh water. So this is crying. It’s hot, my heart is pumping in my chest. I gaze into his bloodshot eyes, how soulful his ambers still are despite being soulless. “I-I would give my life if it means you could come back.” I vouched. “Even for one day.”
I would, I would, and I would.
“I miss you,” I cried. I hope he can feel it, how much I felt when he left, it has been overpowering. I prayed he could, these tears I wept, these words I shall speak, no one else except he and I shall know, this perpetual relation I have with his corpse. And his corpse…has never been enough, nor right. For it was too late. For I am now alone.  
“It hurts.” More than anything you could imagine. Everything you left me. For glory in death, I thought that was good enough for me, I thought I could be content, to have remembered you a brave warrior alone. But, ”It pains me every day when nothing’s changed in this world, this war…” I choked, “And you’re still gone.” 

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