The memories always began with the dirt from the trenches, that clumpy clay that we could never get off our boots. I recall getting stuck in it on my first day to the raucous laughter of my squad. There was a moment of terror before I got loose, and then I decided that no one there would ever make fun of me again. I ran up to that joker Jimmy Crane and socked him straight in the face, and when he fell down I kicked him until he cried for his mama. Nobody said a word to me after that.

I always got the worst assignments because it was their only way to protest my superiority. Digging latrines. Reinforcing the supports on the trenches. Being one of the first to run into battle. To think they wanted me to take a stray bullet, to bury me without dignity. I was better than that. Better than all of them. None of those pansies could lift what they could lift, shoot a rifle as well as I could, or win a fight against me. I saw fear in their eyes when I passed by, and when they spoke to me they looked downwards.

Some people supposedly respected me for the leader I was. They decided to join me when I defected from the Army to escape the madness. We left the trench under the cover of darkness and made way for the nearest village. Knowing that any of the establishments there would report us, we slept in a random barn outside of town. It was supposed to be a quick stop until we could hitch the back of a train in the morning, but the farmer must have seen us because the next morning we awoke surrounded by police.

I pointed at Barney as the ringleader, since he was the first one to suggest the idea. The rest of the group pointed at me, which was garbage. I thought that they supported me because I was strong, and in one fell swoop they revealed themselves to be nothing more than liars. You understand why I had to do what I did.

I don't remember the bullet that one of the stray officers must have fired at me, but the next thing I know I woke up in this stupid soup kitchen. They told me that I'd died and that one bowl of this god-awful broth would allow me to reincarnate. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

Each time I drink some I relive the same memory over again, with no reincarnation of any kind. I'm up to bowl 1,382. The staff couldn't be less helpful as they float aimlessly about in the back, occasionally returning with some new bowls for me to drink. All they tell me is to "keep drinking." I almost can't take it anymore, the taste is like a mixture of rotten cabbage and tractor oil.

The only interesting thing about this place is a scrolling ticker above the counter where the soup bowls appeared. It looks like a scramble of letters, some kind of puzzle.

A ESMRIPO VENER LIVERDEDE

I'd stared at it thousands of times and couldn't seem to unscramble the letters. It was as if my brain just didn't work here. I'd even asked the staff what it meant and they just ignored me. Even the host, who was dressed handsomely in all-black. He'd just smile and walk away.

r/StoriesToThinkAbout