Deluge of Desolation | l. ackerman

Ode to Criminality

"I have too great a soul to die like a criminal."

John Wilkes Booth

(chapter twenty five)

Seldom have I ever pushed myself as much as I have these past few weeks. I have always been a "wherever the wind blows me" type of character regarding the smaller enterprises of my life. I did what I was told, but I never actively endeavored to help others unless completely necessary— though it never has reached such a point.

Just as I scarcely tried to uphold friendships, I let my superiors think I hadn't a care for the cause I so recklessly signed my life away for. I never believed there was a point in exaggerating my efforts when I would risk just as much as the soldier next. Does it really matter when we were all forced to relinquish our self-regard the second we let the ink finish the last stroke or dot of our signature?

Fighting for the preservation of my people and the virtue of this nation was more than I ever once believed I would do.

Overly aware, I am, about my opportunism, regardless of how unethical or immoral my ways may seem to others. I do not cower behind a facade of an altruistic act, I embrace my adverse qualities, probably more than I should, but at least my delusions do not go so far as to believe I could be the face of a good, principled soldier when that is far from reality. Yet as dishonorable as a soldier I may be, I continue to fight for the liberation of a country that would sooner crave my damnation than its enemies entire.

It is just as Reiner said, I am an enemy amongst many nations. Will I ever again have a place I can call home, or will I be forced into a detestable vagrant lifestyle, far away from those who I now consider my found family? If that will be the consequences of my abhorrent lies, will Reiner accept me back...will Marley?

In these recent times, I have been risking my welfare for a fallacious cause and aiding those who will likely chant for my execution once I am found irrefutably guilty.

I know he will hate me once the truth draws forth. He has told me how much he has lost on his pursuit of extensive sovereignty; his freedom being the first to expire, then his late friends' mortality, all of those comrades who now lay decaying in enemy territory or in the grotesque stomachs of our ravenous compatriots, his most trusted squad and, suitably, his purpose.

How dreadfully abhorred he must feel when he finds me to be closely related, horribly knowledgeable about the enemies he has spent the better part of his life fighting against. How betrayed, how broken?

Even as I perceive him sitting next to me by the small indent of the couch I rest on and quiet clinking of ceramic cups, I am unable to think otherwise about how much I long to spend my mornings henceforth with him. He was close, yet we were far from touching. There was a warm drape covering my shoulders and furled body, but the frigid autumn air continued its stiffening vocations. I shivered under the thin fabric as an agonizing throb in my temples persisted throughout the night. My body felt achy and languid as my vision swayed with vertigo.

Keeping my eyes closed and body still was the only thing I believed would keep me from falling over with a groan laced in grievances. "You lied," I quietly uttered from the confines of my knees.

"Huh?" Was Levi's response.

Moaning, I lean further into the side of the couch. "Head hurts. Vertigo. Shoulda left, don't wanna infect you all." My voice was weak and my words only came out in a whisper. I was sure he did not hear me, for the silence that embraced us nearly soothed me back into slumber. But he got up before I could completely fall back asleep. It was then I realized the amount of warmth he brought me, now that he was gone.