Story

Well, I was in the very first war that the United States lost. That was in Vietnam. I can remember it like it was yesterday. The screams of agony, and the smells of the horrors that I had unfortunately come to witness are carried within me wherever I go. What I would give to have these horrid images scraped off my soul. There is no hiding from this pain, only realizing that there is no release. My dreams are not strong enough to keep they’re peace, for they betray me every night. I am constantly forced back into those woods. I try to stem the flow of the memories but I cannot hold back the flood of memories that washes over me.
Let’s see… I am taken back to my 18th birthday, a birthday I spent in a plane on its way to that god forsaken country. The fear that flooded my veins threatened to overcome my coherent senses. The green go light lit up and I felt the blood drain my face. I had never soiled myself prior to this point, not including as a child, but it seemed to become a natural occurrence in that circumstance. I had no time to think, I had to move. I began to shuffle forward mechanically like a robot that could only go forward to its death. Once out of the doors I beheld the beauty of the landscape below me. My chute opened leading me down safely, but the fear I held within me plummeted. It then dawned on me that this beautiful landscape was the horrid arena of the war.
As soon as I had landed I hurried around looking for my comrade. His name was Max Weathers, an American that I had befriended throughout the better part of my life. Once I found him, he and I were inseparable. We were always at the front lines of the battle together. We would never stray too far from one another knowing that the other was always there. The other guys in our troop revered our dedication to each other and our unflinching good will. We had a major battles coming up all the time and we knew we had to push through them.
It so happened that it was two weeks after Max’s birthday that I sat in that muddy and smelly trench for the 6th straight day. My comrade in my was arms slowly dying from the wound he had sustained 5 days ago. I awoke before he did and just stared into his face. His was a kind face, a face that you could relate to, understand, maybe even think was cute. As he slowly and painfully opened his eyes he broke a smile and said,
“Are you still here you idiot? Leave me here alone go out there and do what you know you need to do.”
“I won’t do it,” I had said. “The only way I’ll leave is if they kill me first. I am here for you through and through.”
“Stubborn as always I see. Can I get a sip of water from your canteen mines empty,” he had uttered.
I grabbed my canteen and held it to his lips. As he drank I could feel him slipping more and more down the path towards death. I had to help him in some way so I tried moving him out of the murky and pestilent mud.
“AHHH….What are you doing you know you can’t move me. Just go save yourself there is no point in staying here with me and killing yourself,” he had told me.
“Hey remember that thing Lennon said?” I had asked him for the final time.
“No of course I don’t. I can’t remember anything you know….,” were all the words he could speak. Those were the last words I heard him utter.
“Yea, he said ‘I got by with a little help from my friends’ but you’ve helped me in ways I probably don’t even know about,” I had whispered through the tears.
I sat there for hours just holding onto his body and crying. The pain overwhelming me took control of my body and senses. At first it was grief that I had never felt before. It felt as if my entire being had been sucked out through a straw. Then the anger came in a horde of profanities and gestures. I calmed myself after a little while and buried my friend beneath a great tree near the battlefield. I buried along with him my kindness and caring, I only wanted pain and hurt to come to those that angered me.
Three or four days later, I can’t remember because I was still very much acting on pure adrenaline and emotion, I had my chance at redemption when we cut through a marsh to outflank the enemy. We camped by the marsh until late at night. That night the darkness pressed in on us oppressively. It penetrated our hearts as we slowly slid silently into the murky water of the disease infested marsh. The constant threat of enemy fire kept us alert to the smallest of noises. We were all ready to go and reclaim the honor that had been so unjustly robbed from us. They took it when we had lost those close to us. They took it without thinking that they were wrong, that they were not meant to have honor as we so rightly should.
My eyes were like that of a tiger in the darkness of the sky. I crept slowly up to the embankment and prepared myself mentally for this. I had waited for this time for ages, it had seemed. I was ready to take another life just like the one that was taken from me. I gripped my gun with a steadfast resolve to come out of this the victor. I would not let myself become a casualty but makes myself a hero. I would make myself someone that can hold his head high in the daylight and be proud of whom he was…..
“Well? What happened next?” his grandson of eighteen years asked.
“That my son is a story for another time.”1