I wasn't always a military man, no. I dreamed of being a simple baker. Someone who could make others smile with the taste of my cakes and treats. That could bring warmth to a sad heart in the midst of turmoil in life.
Of course, that was a useless dream in the new world. A world taken by hunger and the suffering of war, where we had nothing but military rations on a daily basis. That dream was taken from me, just like peace and my innocent days in high school.
The days in the new military cities were hard. We had time to wake up and to get to school, with heavy punishments for the smallest of failures. Parent meetings? Expulsion? Those were things of the past. With food and water so scarce, the punishments were temporary loss of access to distribution centers.
In serious cases such as murder or robbery, public executions were not uncommon. Leaders made an example of whistleblowers: stay in line or suffer the consequences. But who could blame them? In such a hostile environment, maintaining control over civilians was essential to keeping the fragile machinery of the new society functional.
As a high school student, I needed to undergo strict military training and get good grades to continue to have access to resources. Those who were considered unfit were discarded by the new society or allocated to factories and farms, working nearly fourteen hours a day in exchange for food for itself and its family.
There were protests, of course. Many in these conditions found it tyrannical, while others enjoyed what they produced with less effort in theory. And they were strongly repelled by the military police, a special detachment to maintain morals and public order. There was no one who would look out for them, no one who would change the system to help those in need. The message was clear: obey or perish.
My parents wanted me to join the army after my education was over. Merely for status and resources. They didn't care that it would put my life at risk, as they believed I would be assigned to the military police. My mother made sure I got good grades by studying whenever possible, and my father took care of my physical conditioning. I had little time for leisure, but it still existed.
Not that I didn't like the idea. Military police had a much quieter life compared to soldiers at the front, which were responsible for defending our territory. Except in situations such as protests and crimes investigation, work was limited to walking around and having a snack on patrols. It was common to see members of this force even playing cards while the others worked around them.
Thanks to this routine, this was a position assured to the best students in the physical and intellectual tests. Of course, the children of high-ranking members also held such positions, to maintain the family's prestige without exposing them to danger.
But that was not the case for me. As a result of one particular day, I became a military man and took on the most dangerous position possible. But that's a story for the next opportunity.
