by Sandor Kovacs
I didn’t know why people called it Rainbow. It was best for me, though, because I couldn’t remember the long name of the chemical compound.
After the medic had pushed it into my vein, I even felt enthusiasm. The thought sickened me. Still, I couldn’t fight against it.
As the tantrum spread from the little spot where I received the jab, I ran out of the trench, yelling. Pure instincts led me, generated by the substance, and like a predator hunting down the prey, I felt every little fluttering of the environment. The decaying duvet of leaves crunched under my footsteps as I pushed forward into the rain of bullets. The roar of the battle exploded into my artificially sharpened ears.
The Rainbow made me fast and created an urge to kill. So I killed, as many as possible. Soldiers, fathers, sons. This was war. And war was Hell.
Then, the Germans stopped marching towards us and hid behind the woods. Silence crept over the landscape as the last echo of the guns faded away. I ducked, not knowing how to react.
First, I thought they had surrendered, but a massive silhouette appeared up behind the forest. Holding their guns high, some of the Germans revealed their positions and shot in the air in delight. Hans, they yelled.
Hans began to shoot at once, crushing trees in its path, and there was no fight anymore but a slaughter. The drug didn’t matter; we were only humans after all. The enormous armoured truck had reflectors on its top, bright as the sun, which blinded my fellow soldiers. Some tried to cover, but most of them were torn apart by Hans’s giant cannon that shot egg sized bullets with the speed of a machine gun. I had never seen destruction comparable.
I wanted to hide too, but, seeing my comrades dying, the compound sent a new wave of rage as an answer to my emotions.
Not caring about the bullets and the reflector, I started towards Hans. I emptied my clip against the metal monster, killing several men on its top. I threw my weapon away and grabbed a grenade from my side when I received a bullet into my left calf. I stumbled and fell forward, screaming in agony. The sound of shaking ground and breaking trees deafened my ears, letting me know that Hans was getting closer.
I had to destroy that vehicle before it found me. I pulled out the pin, threw the grenade and rolled, leaving a bloody trail in the soil.
The explosion caught them by surprise. I lay on my stomach, waiting for the beast to stop or crash. But as the sound of the blast died, I could hear the rumbling. Hans drove forward on its machinery as just a petard had blown up underneath it. The Germans were seeking for the source of the explosive, marching towards me.
I pulled out my knife, and when they got close enough, I stood up, balancing on my right leg. As the Rainbow provided the last drops of energy, I sliced at them, cutting down two with a single move, then a giant bullet tore down my left arm.
I landed on my back while blood sprayed from the stump, then the third bullet entered my stomach. I wanted my mind to be clear when I died, but the objects turned into a canvas of colours, like a giant surrealistic painting. The noise became a river in front of my eyes, floating into my ears without a source, even the aggressive bangs of the battle. Every throb of pain created a new type of sensation. I could see the sound and hear the light.
From the hole in my stomach, a colour tree began to grow. It reached high, leaving my body behind, shape-shifting and forming a rainbow. I felt happiness, as the surprise of the chemists unfolded in the air, moving like a cartoon animation so beautiful that I wished someone could carve it onto my headstone if I was going to have one. Here lies Private Corbin F. Parker, I imagined the text; may the rainbow of his soul shine forever.
Sandor Kovacs is a Hungarian writer, creating stories in the genres of general fiction, horror, science fiction, and fantasy. His work was published on The Writer’s Notebook blog, on the short-story.me website and in Devolution Z.
Sandor lives in London and enjoys reading, writing, listening, watching, and being.
Photo Credit: gambier20 via Flickr, All Creative Commons. Image is of a rainbow oil spill