A Soilder's pain

April 28, 2011
By chey13 BRONZE, Sayreville, New Jersey
chey13 BRONZE, Sayreville, New Jersey
4 articles 0 photos 5 comments

Favorite Quote:
“If the person you are talking to doesn't appear to be listening, be patient. It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear.”
Winnie the Pooh quote

The echo of the gun shots and screams and cries of soldiers echoed in my head. The pain of suffering filled my cold fearful body. The pain was more mental then physical. I held my chest and cried out. I killed that poor man. He had a picture of two little boys in his pocket. I killed the father of the two little boys. The man's face showed the same fear and pain I had felt. He had a family and people who loved him I thought over and over again about how those two boys would have to grow up without their father. That morning I was called out to the battle field. I saw the blood and bodies, I smelt the odor of death, and I heard the same screams and cries. I ducked down to ground level and crawled. I moved the lifeless bodies out of my path. The mud and blood dripped from my face. The fog made it hard to see who was coming towards so I pointed my gun at all times.

“Help! I can't die!” A young man's voice cried. I couldn't help him I had my own life to worry about. I moved along slowly hoping he had not seen me.

'Please! I'm too young.” He cried again. He saw me! I thought abot the fear and pain I felt, I knew I had to help him. I crawled over to him, and a river of blood surrounded me. I saw he had a wound on his leg. I pulled out my bottle of water which I had refulled at the river this morning. I poured the warm water over the wound. The boy fliched and his face showed pain. I took off my white under shrit, which was a bright red and covered in mud. I tightly wrapped it around his leg. I took off my belt and wrapped it around his leg as well. I wanted his blood flow to stop at his leg so he didn't loose anymore blood.

“Thank you!” The boy's voice was soft and shakey. I wanted to burst into tears because he seemed so thankful, like I was his hero. I held back the tears because I had to show him I was strong. I carried him to the nearest hosiptal which was set up in a tent like all the hospitals here. His dirty and sweating hands held mine as the doctors sewed his leg together. When the doctors finished I carried him to our camp for the night. I took the path that seemed to not but walked upon. It was grassy and the moon seemed to hit it on an angle that made it look as if it was heaven. The leaves had fallen and covered the cold solid ground. The wind burned my face and dried my eyes. My body became weak and numb. I could no longer hold the boy, but I contuied forcing my arms to hold his fragile body. I think he had fallen asleep because he stopped talking so I was quiet and didn't say much. We finally arrived at our camp and I placed him down. My arms hurt so I rubbed them with warm water that I had boiled. I soaked my feet and hands in the water as well. My whole body ached with coldness. I stood my grounds with my gun in my arms ready to shoot at any sudden movement.

“Would you mind if I sat beside you?” The boy asked as I jumpped. “No,” I held my heart, “It's fine go right ahead. Just don't scare me!” I said.

“Sorry! Did you ever want to just go home?” The boy asked. I thought long and hard about his question. Well of corse I wanted to go home, who in their right mind would enjoy the pain of not seeing your family and thinking how everyday might be your last. “Yes, I think about it a lot!” I told him.

“I do to! I wish I was home with my dad and brothers. We used to always drink hot chocolate at the fire and tell scary stories. Then again I'm glad I was here because I got to meet you. I was feeling alone these past couple days. I sat in the rain just crying for a while wishing I was home.” He went on talking about his father and how his father was in the war as well. He told me a little about his two brothers. I now knew they were 5 and 7 years old. They too wanted to be in the war and they played with toys guns yelling how they were soldiers and they even got up early and stood up most of the night acting as if they had to make sure noone attacked them at night. This made me think of my brother. My brother James and I used to play with toy guns and we used to act like we died on the battle field. I didn't think about my brother in a long time so this was hard for me. A tear ran down my face and the image of him popped in my head. It was only 5 years ago when he had past away. He was messing around with his friends. They were racing cars in my back yard and he crashed into our barn. The boy then shared with me that his mom died when he was only 16 years old, and that was about 4 years ago. His two brothers stayed with his aunt when him and his dad went to war. We then began to take turns on look at when we got tired. But most of the night we sat there together just talking. I was glad we did because I hated being out there alone. He then pulled out a picture and gave it to me.

“That's my brothers, dad and me. I keep this with my so I always remember I'm not alone,” he teared as he spoke. I looked closely at the man he pointed at was his father. I couldn't breath at this moment. I saw myself kill that poor man again and again.

The author's comments:
This was for school. Sorry for the spelling mistakes.

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