[ WP ] A warrior from a planetary culture with literally no concept of surrender or quarter sits detained in a POW camp .

Day in and out, the earth grows further bruised. Myriad prisoners scar our surroundings in hopes of avoiding pain. The last months have been nothing. 
 
 That's it, just nothing, a simple nothingness. It's strange, the beating of arms, the tears of lovers, and the poems scratched into our cabins, are all reminiscent of hope. And hope is accompanied with the possibility of surrender. 
 
 Hope is something I ca n't understand. Where I come from, I learned a lot of things early. I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives i want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. Obviously a realization like this sounds like surrender. Though, it's quite the opposite. It is n't hopelessness, it's simply introspection. All it is is me recognizing that I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. Though some may argue of physical limitation, I've learned to ignore them. 
 
 Before this cage of criss-crossed metal beams blocked us in the hundreds, my life was particular. I neither recognize the people here nor will I make an attempt. See, I'm different. 
 
 When I was four, my father took me hiking. This is my earliest memory and it's full of the vibrant blue smell of clean air away from other's. Everything after this scent is obvious to me. It's categorized in my brain, and it's something I've come to accept. Immediately after this scent, I recognize my young father arched back, arm extended with an ex further elongating his figure. 
 
 The sound of his body whip-lashing forward and dismantling the tree laid in front of us is my second clear memory. It was a whomp, then a huge crack, followed by this inhuman screech. 
 
 My father crashed to the floor, whimpering at his own body. It did n't handle the stress from the motion and severed his spine. In the middle of nowhere, hundreds of miles away from other people, he sat there in tears. 
 
 Almost instantly they dried up on his face. His mouth lined itself up, parallel to his gaze, and the fatherly sternness everyone discusses completed him. `` I'm going to die. You need to find your way back.'' 
 
 There was neither apology nor sadness, it was simply the end. And there he collapsed. Though through sheer luck, we scarred the earth on our way to this barren forest. I backtracked, following the injured trees, and found my way back. 
 
 The rest of the memory is a blur, but when my eyes awoke I was home. And ever since then, I've never understood surrender. I've never allowed myself to be captured into jail, nor will I ever allow things to get the better of me. 
 
 About twenty years after my father's death, the world erupted into beautiful chaos. War took lives by the thousands and I did everything to fight. My uniform grasped my chest tightly, and hugged me with more comfort than a woman's legs. 
 
 Fighting is what I was, not surrendering is what defined me. And the lesson my father passed heroically in his death stayed. 
 
 My bunk-mate and best friend was the complete opposite of me. He cried at the prospect of life. He welcomed death with open arms, even admitting to multiple suicide attempts. Where my family invested their trust in my heart, theirs invested a trust in his mind. And now, hope does n't exist. 
 
 Hope manifests in the heart like a virus. The ones who can breed this virus smile in the face of death, and cry in the face of joy. But despondence and surrender never shows their face. This virus extinguishes all other emotions. 
 
 A well invested mind breeds many other things, most notably the recognition of mortality. It's strange, and though many have preached lifefulness, those invested in their mind completely can never understand. This virus is different, it's one of recognition. It understand the disgust of the mud, and the pain of someone's fists, and the anger of a confused lover. 
 
 Where hope is blissful and naive, recognition is cold and wise. I was never one to invest much trust in faith, but when this dichotomy presents itself, it's always a nice thought. 
 
 One fight, he and I stormed ahead of the troops and were ambushed by enemy troops. The barrage of fists against my body was nothing but physical pain. But my mate's mind could n't handle it and his emotions burst out. 
 
 In fear, he got up and attacked the assailants. After a knife to the leg, and a scar across his face, he was down. 
 
 When we woke up, instead of a warm home, it was cold. Across from me sat my mate, and he was done. Life took him completely. That attack was his first and last moment alive. It's as if his heart burst open completely, unleashing itself. 
 
 Now it's been a few months, and he's since left me. He did n't last more than a few days in this cage. 
 
 As I repeat the cliche, I realize my one characteristic. It exemplifies me above everyone, making me unique completely. Surrender is a concept foreign to me. One people learn watching their parents struggle and thinking to themselves, it might be easier if they ignored this. 
 
 I persevered through it all. I ignore the logic and my mind and never lost hope for better. Now, I wo n't look back and will scar the earth. As those around me collapse, I'll continue to blemish everything. 
 
 I will not go like my father did.
