I woke up, my head spinning, a dead feeling in my left arm. A sharp pang of panic rose in my gut, as I tried to remember who I was, and where I was lying. “Ah, you're awake,” a soft voice said. I looked over to my right to see a young woman sitting in a chair beside my bed. “I was beginning to worry,” she said softly, rising from her seat. The woman had a thick Irish accent.

“Where am I..?” I asked hesitantly, attempting to sit up.


“A hospital tent.” She stated, walking over, a bandage in her hand. She crouched beside me and started taking off a bandage that was on my left arm. I gasped as I saw a large gunshot wound, seemingly very fresh. “How did I get that? When did I get that?” I practically shouted, my breaths becoming rapid and shaky.

“You were shot on the field. Do you not remember?” the woman asked, her head tilting slightly. I shook my head. “I'll give you a recap then.” she announced, beginning to treat my wound. “Your name is Justin. You were enlisted in the Pro-Treaty Forces of Ireland just a couple months ago. You showed very advanced skills, so they wanted you out on the battlefield as quickly as possible.” The flashbacks started. I remembered leaving home, saying goodbye to my parents and siblings. They all told me to be careful, and that I was doing our country a great service. I remember my father telling me of the excitement that came with being in the army, the thrill that ran through your body as you shot your gun at an enemy. His enthusiasm for violence was almost scary. I just wanted the violence to end. That was why I joined the war. I would never tell him that though.
I remember getting to the base camp, and the generals evaluating us. I was praised often, whether it be for my athletic skills, good aim, or stealth. I was promoted quickly, and shoved onto the battlefield within a month.
The sharp sting of alcohol brought me back to reality. I winced, and tried to move my arm away, then remembered that I couldn't. “Sorry.” the woman muttered, dabbing more gently at my wound. I said nothing. “Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat, “ You were out on a mission. I'm not allowed to know what it was.. apparently I'm not important enough to know.” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “Apparently you got hurt on your mission. Are you remembering any of this?” she asked, beginning to wrap the bandage she had grabbed earlier around his arm. Justin nodded slowly. “yeah…I do.” I said slowly.

His commanding officer had sent him to spy on the Anti-Treaty Forces. I remembered how strange I had felt wearing the black and tan clothing of the other side. I had to cross through the woods to get to the enemys side, knowing that trying to cross no-man's-land would just result in instant death. I had been so nervous and scared. Well mostly scared actually. I walked straight into the camp, keeping my head down low, hoping I didn't look as obviously out of place as I felt. Most of the soldiers were sitting outside, some discussing previous battles, others staring off into the distance, their face and eyes blank. I stared for a while, then continued on. I needed to find maps of where they were going, or battle plans. Some kind of information. I quickly found what I was looking for. A map, along with some other documents sat on an old wooden table. Written on the map was the route they were taking for their next attack. I gasped. They were planning on surrounding us; either attacking directly, or starving us out. I looked around, and then folded up the match and shoved it in my pocket. I walked away, trying to not act suspicious. I walked toward the woods again, getting a bit excited, realizing that I might actually make it all the way back without anyone having noticed my existence. Then, it seems as if the inevitable happened. “There is a spy among us!” a loud voice yelled. I jumped and had to resist the urge to take off running into the woods. lots of gasps arose from the camp. A couple of soldiers stood up and grabbed their guns. “Line up.” one of them said. Everyone sat still. “Line. Up!” he shouted, stepping forward. Everyone got up then. They all formed a line, each with hands at his or her sides, bodies completely straight. “We’re going to check each one of you,” a different soldier said. They began checking each soldier, getting angrier and angrier each time they didn't find the map. I began to slowly step towards the woods. Somehow, by the will of god it seemed, I made it to the woods without being seen. As soon as I was behind the cover of the trees, I ran. After running for what seemed like hours, I could finally see my camp in the distance. I slowed down to a walk, smiling in relief. I was almost there. I had gotten the map. I was almost back. Then, as quickly as my relief had appeared, it vanished. I heard the boom of a shotgun, and before I could even react, blood was seeping out of my arm, already soaking through my clothes. I looked at my arm, seeing all the blood, and had to resist throwing up. I began to feel dizzy, from both the sight and loss of blood, and slowly sank to the ground. I heard footsteps approaching, and looked up. A young man loomed over me, a frown upon his face. He said nothing to me. He reached down and yanked the map out of my pocket, unfolding it, confirming to himself that it was the one that had been stolen. He folded it back up, and put it in his own pocket. He looked down at me one more time, and I swear I saw sadness in his eyes. Then he walked away, leaving me alone, to bleed out on the ground. The last thing I remember was looking up at the tree branches, and feeling disappointment and sorrow. Then I had blacked out.

I snapped back to reality again, a sharp pain in my heart. The woman finished wrapping the bandage around my arm and stood up. “Alright, that’s all I can do for you for now. You look pale… Did you get hit somewhere else too?” she asked, her voice concerned. I shook my head. “No. Physical wounds aren’t my problem right now,” I uttered, standing up. “Can I go?” I asked.
The woman nodded. “Just one question though,” she said, staring at me. I raised an eyebrow. “Do you know the man, or woman, who shot you?”
I nodded. I tried to keep the pain out of my voice as I answered. “Yes. He was my brother.”