Zephyr Zenith

• Zachary Gray, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2015

Thunder roared through the streets of London Square, muffling the toned lyrics of Big Ben as the day reached its zenith. Streaks of lightning periodically illuminated the city, highlighting its imperial beauty despite the rain’s blanketing obscurity. October was never really the time to be out, but this night seemed to be extraordinarily severe. I took a step back from the frosted window, glad for the radiant warmth of the office and its protection from the storm. It had been a horrible day for both Cliffe Ahmadi and me, and this weather was not helping his ongoing psychological situation. We had been discussing her scarring recollections of the war and the suffering it had on him and those he had once cared for.
‘It all came about yesterday afternoon in Nadir Gorge,’ Ahmadi began, the gloomy valley below Zephyr Zenith. I was just finishing off my duties when Kath appeared out of nowhere and grabbed me by the arm, almost wrenching it out of its socket. Her current state of demeanour was of fury and rage, yet her tears were nourishing the desiccated grass. She appeared to have a slight limp to her right leg, but I decided it best not to query.
‘ “Come on, Cliffe, let’s go. Now.” she ordered abruptly, referring to our daily training, although I was rather vexed as to her urgency.
‘ “Kath, is something the matter?” I asked, struggling to sympathise.
‘When she did not respond, I thought it best just to remain silent and support her whatever the reason be. We kicked off training with a routine jog around the Zenith. It was seventeen-hundred hours, a half hour later, upon entering the blinding blanket of fog of Thrushcross Gorge. (As this was the time we regularly begin training, neither one of us had any idea that our allies have their daily combat training and target practice in this specific region at this exact time.) We ceased our jog, took a seat on the couch-shaped sarsen as we do every time, and then we each took a sip of hydration from our canteens. While we were regaining our breaths, we gazed up to admire a graceful legion of birds, whizzing, revolving, freewheeling, free from all the war and turmoil that we, as soldiers, choose to face. I had found my serendipity. This calming sensation swallowed us up like dissipating fog where all of our previous pains and sorrows have lifted, including those that had recently restrained my companion.
‘ “I’m very sorry about earlier,” Kath confessed, her head tilted downward. “I shouldn’t have treated you like I did. I was just so furious. It was my brother. You know how wretched he can be.”
‘I nodded in understanding, awaiting the crux of her recent experience.
‘ “I was beaten up by him, not to the face, fortunately, but the torture, the cruelty, the inhumane nature of it all, and by my own brother ¬–”
‘All of a sudden, a hail of bullets screamed through the fog; fury engraved on each of their heads. Kath and I immediately launched for cover, attempting to shield ourselves from the impromptu storm. Fearing for our lives, we flattened ourselves behind the sarsen as the unrelenting barrage persisted. “Blast! I’m hit!” Kath exploded, clutching her crimson bullet-lodged leg. A few moments after her ear-splitting cry, the stormy sky began to clear; the cloud of fog dispersed, the hail ceased, and sunlight beamed down like a thousand diamonds, clarifying the many distortions of our surroundings.