Benjamin Komers was in despair.
He pressed his chiselled face against the window while watching the desolate trickle of raindrops down the window. His heart fluttered with hopelessness. Tears emanated sorrowfully from his eyes, bonding with the pace of the water.
His chambers reflected in his sight. His vision was drawn to the metal replica of the British Spitfire – the elegant, classic fighter heavily utilised during World War II – resting smugly on the countertop. He snatched it from its post and brushed his right hand over the smooth metal he had smelted and crafted into the marvel.
Triggered, the terrible memories flooded back into his brain, breaking against his collapsing mental barricade. They forced him to remember. They took him back to 1941.
The warzone was a vivid picture of chaos. The machine guns belched out their bullets as they smashed into the soft ground surrounding him. The ravaged corpses of his soldiers lay face-down in the vicinity.
A young man clutched his rifle to his bosom, petrified of peeking past the barrier, knowing that he would share the fate of his comrades if he did so.
“Benjamin!”
The only remaining squad marshal was kneeling beside the man. He ducked into the secure crevice, almost missing it by a few millimetres, as a grenade exploded behind his spine.
“Benjamin, we need to escape from this hellhole. They’re raining grenades. If one finds its path here, we’ll be nothing but pieces of flesh.”
But it was too late.
As Benjamin listened to his companion, his perspective caught the trail of an explosive. Time slowed down. He could only watch as it spun, glinting with the rays of the sun, and smashed into the dirt with a soft thwack.
His teammate glimpsed back. And then it detonated.
The force of the eruption threw Benjamin, and the fighter backwards as molten shrapnel were discharged. One colossal piece sliced the squad member in half. Molten pieces flew haphazardly towards Benjamin with their one goal: to maim and kill.
He threw himself onto the trench, but one managed to embed itself in his arm. The power ripped a portion from his joints.
The pain blinded Benjamin. It overtook him as he collapsed onto the earth, the sky swimming in front of him.
His eyes were greeted with the pale, white simplicity of a hospital ward when they opened themselves to the world. The doctors stood around him, wearing masks resembling grim reapers, intent on separating Benjamin’s soul from his body.
He shifted his neck. They were discussing amongst themselves hotly. His ears, partly deaf from the explosion, caught a word that made bile rise into his
mouth. Amputation.
He realised exactly which part of him they were planning to amputate. The blood, soaking through the bandages of his left arm, seemed to agree. He accepted that his survival as an able-bodied human had officially ended.
Benjamin managed to shut off the vigour the recollections possessed. But it had already poisoned him.
He glanced at the jagged, charred stump of his left arm with pure loathing. It was all that remained after the final operation.
All he desired was a prosthetic arm so that he could feel human once more. He wanted to relish the feeling that the nerves and tendons provided once he shocked them into mobility, which was an aptitude that many took for granted.
But his wish was cruelly rejected after he discerned his savings. It fell miles short of his goal to purchase a robotic part, and his pension wouldn’t be enough to satisfy his yearning. Even a basic arm well exceeded his budget.
His only friends had deserted him. His parents had fled to heaven when he was still an adolescent. He couldn’t evade the ominous feeling that nobody regarded him anymore.
Melancholy whipped out a hand and grasped his heart.
Lucas Bowlie gazed with woe in his soul as he spied across the road and into Benjamin’s window. He clearly saw the pained expression and despondence imprinted upon his dear friend’s face.
Being a war veteran himself, he recognised the turmoil that was boiling within Benjamin.
An undying attachment to his amigo prevented him from sleeping. There were too many positives Benjamin had committed during his esse in the beforemath of the battle to neglect.
He pondered over the man’s kindness when he was in his prime and enjoying his life. He fondly recollected the aid he had provided to Lucas’ mother when she was diagnosed with stage two cancer.
Benjamin had sacrificed two months of his vacation to visit his mother and bring Lucas along on a flight that had a fare of a fortune when Lucas couldn’t afford it.
And he had paid for the treatment that had managed to raise the mother back to her norm.
As the memory returned to the bank, a new one eloquently flew into place. Benjamin had once raised funds for a family whose son had aspiring ambitions – to join Oxford – but was rejected by his family due to their financial position.
Benjamin had aided them to raise funds and convert an ambition into a triumphant reality, thus making him an overnight celebrity in the locality.
Lucas acknowledged that there was a way to summon Santa and once again grant unfulfilled cravings for Benjamin.
Then, the idea dawned upon him. It propelled his brains and he cursed himself for not being enlightened on the fact before. It would be just the right option: the ladder had finally been sent down the unclimbable abyss to rescue Benjamin.
He sprung out of his living quarters and embarked on his journey.
It was an enchanting, balmy day.
The clouds sauntered in the atmosphere gleefully, and the sun beat down radiantly at their fluffy frames.
But it wasn’t the same for Benjamin.
People glanced at him sceptically. He could feel their eyes poking daggers at his rear as he strolled on the street. When he met their gaze, they averted their eyes, but he grasped the exact reason why they had been staring at him.
“Mummy, why is that man missing his arm?”
The mum shot an apologetic glance towards Benjamin and pulled the innocent child away, scolding him for yelling out in public. Benjamin directed his scrutiny
downwards, realising the child had been reflecting his thoughts.
A car honked.
Benjamin slammed his vision forwards. A heinous truck was driving at him at full speed. It was adorned with graffiti roaring one single message: ‘Disabled people are a hindrance!’
The monster rumbled forwards and collided with Benjamin, sending him flying in a haywire mess of blood and tissue.
Benjamin awoke with a start. The same nightmare had been recurring for a week. But he knew it was based off what he experienced when he exposed himself to society.
He leapt out of bed, albeit gradually. The sudden action made him recollect his eventful childhood which he spent the better part of playing baseball.
“Lucas, hit the ball!”
Benjamin used to dance with glee as he taught his closest intimate how to bat and quicken the reflexes to receive the sphere. It was all fun and games till the
arm disrupted the party and killed the joy.
His nicked appendage had restricted one of his only passions. One that he understood was now lost forever.
“Ding dong!”
The doorbell rings.
Benjamin was nonplussed. It had been five years since he received a package. The most recent post had been depressing: an outrageous electricity
bill sauntered to his door – one that he was having trouble financing.
Astonished, he peeked at the package. It was a cardboard box engraved with an abundance of immaculate, children’s drawings representing the art of baseball that had been conveyed with youthful pleasure. And in the middle of the confusing clutter, a quote was inscribed.
“Never stop trying. Never stop believing.”
A slight shuffling reached his ears. Looking up from the box shrouded in mystery, several personas withdrew themselves from the darkness of the corridor.
He perceived them immediately. They were the members of the community. Retired, pubescents, youth. All of them made up the minute crowd that had
gathered at his doorstep.
And from the congregation, his chum Lucas ambled forward. He asked for one, simple action.
“Unlock the box to disclose its secrets.”
Following his command questioningly, Benjamin ripped open the packaging. A long, slender object was seemingly encased in bubble wrapping. Even though the present was hiding in stealth, he could discern its contents and his hopes rose to the clouds.
As the second layer unfolded, the robotic paraphernalia rose out of the murky depths to grin at its new-fangled owner.
It was Benjamin’s fantasy object. A prosthetic hand.
He was stunned. His eyes glistened with shock. The minute crowd blurred out of sight as jubilation began to invade his core.
Seeing the startled façade, Lucas laughed. He then explained: “I had turned into an eternal insomniac after not being able to comprehend your
detrimental state. Knowing that your service to the community was extensive, I found a way to pay it back by uniting all our savings and purchasing the implant that we knew would raise you out of the predicament well.”
“All the little kids are in awe of your service to the nation. Their young brains have guided them to follow in your footsteps – each one making its impact on
the Earth. Thus, they donated their birthday bills to the procedure of acquiring the artificial limb.”
Benjamin scanned the plethora of youngsters that had assembled themselves at the doorstep with a faltering smile. Their immense eyeballs withheld a ton of admiration as they nodded up their minute heads towards the grandmaster.
“I discerned that the only way to raise one out of their unclimbable muddle is to harness the power of the community spirit.”
And as Lucas stepped back, a 20-year-old man stepped forward.
“Do you remember me?”
Benjamin surveyed the clean-shaven, striking face standing before him. And he began his trip down memory lane.
It was the same boy he had helped achieve his dream education at the prestigious Oxford University.
“You were the one who inspired me.”
“After managing to grab a triumphant job that pays me a substantial amount annually, I realised that I can also spread my earnings to the deprived around the globe. Now, I also work part-time as a volunteer to donate food to the hungry.”
Benjamin had never known that his undertakings had been as influential as the quest that the juvenile had accomplished.
A little toddler stumbled forward. And in his hand, he held a baseball. A bonny voice narrated.
“Can you play baseball with me, sir? With your cool robot arm, it would be so fascinating!”
Happy tears started rolling down his cheeks. Little kids were imploring him to resume his passion, his once beloved sport, that he used to appreciate with his buddies. They didn’t ostracise him from society like everyone else.
And suddenly, someone voiced out.
“We appreciate your service in safeguarding us from the onslaught of atrocious enemies. We hope that with your contemporary arm, you can continue to protect the civilians of our nation.”
All and sundry nodded in agreement. He had never experienced such an enthralling rush of emotion his entire life.
And he now knew that there was a whole locality that cared for him. That would fight, come hell or high water, to bring his fancies to life. One that did
not discriminate against him for his disability.
Ecstasy seized him as he began to grin.
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