Young Writers Society

I cried the first click, standing on the battlefield I shook and wept with no honor. I was disgusted the first click and I left everyone to die while I listened to it. I froze with nothing less than fear. The pestilence that kills any marine is fear and yet still I waited and nothing happened. The click forever stayed in my thoughts.

The second time I heard the clicks the blood of my enemy splattered the walls. But I did not shoot. I said my goodbyes and I wept on top of his body. I promised him no more bloodshed from me. I promised him and he died.

“No more bloodshed”

The Americans who joined the army seemed proud on TV. While I watch now, I see our governments attempt to manufacture lives with flags. They used patriotism to justify anything, but what happens when war itself seems unjustified?

We joined when we didn’t get into college. We had futures intact by a second chance, with another choice. What we didn’t ponder was that helping our country became decimating others. That we would kill people we didn’t even know. We didn’t even know why.

We were meant to be soldiers, no emotion; just kill. But to say there is no emotion would take our humanity away, and we would become machines. We do the bidding of our country or our government and we cannot ask why or which.

When our republic has failed us we pay with lives, not money nor any commodity of less value.

I watched the elections; the one person stopping war is being silenced by the media. I guess the media reports on our bloodshed and to have no war means less money. I say to have no war means less blood. But whoever listens to a soldier?

I stood there watching in the reflection of a jeep window. I watch the eloquent cars float by on their roads. When they stop I hear the singing; the terrible singing of the soldiers whom impersonate the radio. Then I hear the clicks again.

I see my buzzed brown hair and the rough ingrain of dull white skin in a jeeps reflection. Although my eyes are green they turn glistening red as I listen and as I listen my smile fades; no longer shedding light on the scenery of terror that took place in the reflection.

I am dead silent listening to the noise. I continue my gaze into the dirt roads of Iraq. I watch them duck and run but not I. The scene of red mist and terror took over my thoughts.

The people in the background continue running, dispersing into houses, and ducking behind cars; although, still I wait watching the men. I actually still hear the brotherhoods singing, but I know it’s not real so I ignore it. Instead I listen to the clicks sounding counting the times the clicks stop but they never completely stop.

I feel the soft soles of fabric on the outside of my jacket. My insides beat of a lack of breath but my body stays calm and rigged. The rough arid air pushes my hair in all directions. A tear falls and my cheek turns cold with the small indent of water on the cold wind.

The trace of glare from the window that followed my look was unable to satisfy my perception. But, I did not dare to look back at the clicks. I knew if I looked back a sense of reality would hit my gut. I trace the sparks that wisp in the setting of the strongly build structures. They are corresponding to one-another each with a unique set of colors and patterns resembling big apartment buildings and complexes.

I close my eyes and I try to fill my mind of deceit but I know if I open my eyes I would see the chaotic uniforms of men, which were ether moving about or completely still I didn’t know.

That’s when the terror struck metal. The sound turns to a deeper thud and in my head I can pin-point the distance and direction of its clank. It is so close to me that my eyes are forced wide awake unwillingly. I realize it wasn’t going anywhere. It was coming for me the entire time, wanting me to freeze and waiting for the fear to take me over.

My eyes are glossy as I barely see the crash of the jeep window and its metal as it bends with indents of small bullets. Quickly I dive head-first towards pavement of a desolate sidewalk. A shock hits my body mid-swing and the jeep blew up in shades of red and black smoke throwing me back-first toward a rocky surface.

I reap the violent crackle of my shoulder blade and feel a tearing of cartilage in its muscle. I skid agents the dry ground and my arms suffer of a single sheering pain as it opened my body from my elbow to shoulders.

I wait in agony as the sound of nothingness passes. It was so loud and clear that I cringe in pain. I stumble up trying to recollect the amount of rolls in order to find my way upright. I stand for a split second and immediately throw myself at the curb. A lack of balance took control and I lay helplessly waiting for the clicks to come closer.

I wanted to lie down and rest forever but I knew that I couldn’t. I had to get up, but getting up at this point is not an option. I manage to tilt my head. I expected to see smoke but what I see is something worse. It became more detrimental as it came closer. The jeep’s metal throwing itself at me in a frenzy that ran for my flesh.

The floating jeep metal seems still; everything is still. I stare at it; vicious shrapnel swinging, and digging into the ground pulling up pieces of it. I know all I can do is watch it rage its brutal razors. My fate sealed, I lower my head and it attacks.

I awoke quickly but badly hurt and woozy. My sight is moving back and forth like it was the sway of the earth. A migraine took my thoughts away, but the wounds were actually numb. So I lift my hand to my face and in an awestruck motion feel the metal and craters of my damaged body.

The shrapnel, with one major cut tore from my chin to my eye on the left side. So I checked my arms for scratches. When I lifted my hands up to see them; the warm blood from my face splattered on my arms. I could smell the blood.

I watch the deserted earth and the whispering wind throwing the sand in the air. My hearing is sharp but my vision is faint from the shrapnel. So I look up and see nothing—but hear the faintest sound of a footstep. Then moments go by. I look about and see a man staring; then three single clicks burst into the air.

I shot the man. I look back for a split second to the hustle of the Army running straight toward me. Then I immediately buried my head into my pain ridden palms. I heard the load shout of my dear friend. But he did not stop when he saw me. He kept running.

I hear him stutter “Man down,”