Love and War
25 Mar 2019Today’s prompt: “Pick a country, and imagine we’ve been at war with it for fourteen years. Write a love story set in that world.”
Most Americans hadn’t even heard of the Federated States of Micronesia fourteen years ago. But now the whole world knows all about those four island states: Yap, Chuuk, Kosrae and Pohnpei.
Frickin’ Pohnpei.
Pohnpei is where they first appeared, of course. R’lyeh is located in the South Pacific, about as far as you can get from any other land mass. It’s about 5,100 miles from Pohnpei, but when Cthulhu and his bloodthirsty brethren woke up, that’s where they went.
Pohnpei used to be known for its waterfalls, coral reefs, ancient ruins, a few species of birds, and a thick, sludgy drink called sakau made from the kava plant. It was called Ascension Island by Europeans, and ruled by the Spanish, the Germans, the Japanese and the US before the FSM was formed. Now, Pohnpei is known for being the stomping ground of the Old Ones – the island of their ascension from the watery depths. It’s where Nyarlathotep masses his followers. It’s where Hastalÿk, The Contagion, sends his infections on the winds to neighboring lands. And it’s where Abholos (Devourer in the Mist), Lexur’iga-serr’roth (He Who Devours All in the Dark), M’Nagalah (The Devourer), Sheb-Teth (Devourer of Souls), Shuy-Nihl (The Devourer in the Earth), and Ialdagorth (The Dark Devourer) set up an all-you-can-eat human buffet.
The entire world has been at all-out war with Micronesia for 14 years. Or at least, those inhabitants of the world who haven’t already been zombified, compromised or driven mad. Almost everyone thinks it’s hopeless, although there’s always some hawk who points out we were able to kill Ithaqua by firing a few mortars. No one wants to say aloud that none of the other Old Ones have been that vulnerable.
Love stories in this world are like soap bubbles. They all end in fleeting goodbyes. You and Paul were in the remobilized 104th infantry together, the Nightfighters. He had a smile that almost made you forget the world. You traded each other bites from your MREs, and he told you about his life before the war growing up in Nebraska surrounded by cornfields. Maybe that doesn’t sound like much of a love story. A few shared beef stew packets, a smile, a conversation. But in a world like this, you take love where you can find it. You grab it by the throat and you don’t let go.
You and Paul shared a bunk for five glorious nights. And then, death from above. No, not a bomb; not a strafing attack from an airborne division. This isn’t that kind of war. You were attacked by Groth-Golka, the Demon Bird-God, a kind of toothy pterosaur. He dove toward your platoon and seized you in his beak, flew skyward with you, shook you like a rag doll and dropped you. Paul rushed to your side, but there was nothing that could be done. He choked back tears, and you placed your hand over his, and slipped away into the dark.
Paul still takes your dog tags out of his pocket from time to time, but a little less frequently now. He still doesn’t smile as much as he used to. The war goes on, year after year after year.