The Mournful Psychic Soldier

Have you ever thought about the meaning of life? Does each life have a meaning to it; no matter what suffering we endure does it have some larger purpose other than to bring us utter misery? Or is life more in the passing moments, of which we should cherish and draw our happiness from no matter how marginal that happiness is.

My life, like so many others, was born of tragedy that resulted in my mother’s life ending abruptly. When I came into this world, she died, as if a message which would foretell of how the remainder of my existence would play out. Yet I did come into the world and before I was even given a name, the army took me away for the good of Russia, saying I was special and needed. I imagine my former family would have rather had the compensation they were given or maybe it was out of fear or patriotic duty. Ether way they didn’t lodge a complaint.

Maybe it was part of the larger scheme of things that I was to be taken from my family, maybe I am to fulfill some larger goal, or it could be that I was destined to live a life filled with misery, though I found great comfort in philosophy and as strange as things were it felt good to be needed, even if it was for the purpose of killing other people.

I was brought up at the institute where they gave me my name, Caroline. I didn’t get a last name, didn’t have a family, and was told to forget them several times. At the institute I learned to walk, talk, and take care of myself at a rate they called astonishing. My caretakers were kind toward me and a bit fearful. They weren’t always like that but when I was young, about four and a half, I pinned one against the wall and shortly after he got out of the infirmary, he quit. I don’t remember why I did it but afterward they all looked at me with a look of fear or despise but the scientists they looked at me with joy. At that age they began calling me a monster.

Over the years they taught me control over my abilities, telekinesis they called one, another Telepathy. There were some powers I could rarely use because they taxed my body to its limits and they said I would have to wait before I could fully use those. They were always giving me injections, calling it medicine, I would feel funny afterward. One time when I was ten I slept for a week after one of the injections.

I was also taught English, math, and ligature but most of my education was spent on tactics, infiltration training, and combat. Not a bad thing because I kept my figure throughout the years, a thing I don’t know why I care about, and no one will ever love a monster and I should just stick to my training. They really have that burned into my conscious. They were adamant about it when I hit my teen years and started becoming interested in the opposite sex.

I don’t even know why I started having a period; it is like a cruel joke, a reminder that I will never mother a child that my entire existence will be devoted to the Russian Military for the good of the homeland. Is it wrong to want something more? To sit in your room at night or during isolation training, or even sensory deprivation experiments and think about the things that you want but know you can never have? Maybe it is, but I still do it anyway, but I won’t tell them that. They would probably have me see a staff psychiatrist so they could perfect their training program. I know finding out things they don’t want me to know is wrong but sometimes I can’t help myself.

I heard on a few occasions that they had other children like me, though I was never allowed to see them. That they would beat the Americans no matter what. They were all younger than I was and I was the guinea pig for their development, so my life did have a positive impact on others, in a twisted sort of way.


The years were not all bad. Occasionally before the realized I could see the others these beings would come and talk to me. It really creeped out the people at the institute when I would know things I wasn’t supposed to know about them. The beings were never mean to me, stern sometimes but never mean. Eventually the scientists figured a way to stop them from coming in so it was rare that I was able to see one of them. They were my only true friends I had in the world.

When I was 16 years old the war began. It was then they started taking me on trial runs where they would have me stain my hands with blood, where I would kill without mercy. Throwing people or things at people with Telepathy, finding out troop movements and who the spies were. It went on for a few years. It was not a great life, but it was my life and that is something I took solace in.

Eventually they started to fear that I might not be controllable so they put this collar around my neck. It is really gaudy but it limits my potential to where I won’t pose a threat to them if they need to take me out. The people, who said my life had meaning, were going about preparing for its end. Poetic isn’t it.

One day when I was 19 it all changed, for the better or worse I can’t say yet but they brought in this man. He is sort of cute and around my age. His hands are as red as mine but for a different reason. They say they are going to study him here and I should pay him no mind but for some reason I can’t stop thinking about him. It is really becoming an obsession that I wanted to meet him, I think I just wanted a friend someone who won’t look at me like a monster. I think tonight I will sneak out and meet him, maybe just once.

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