(Warning: light violence)
As I walked on the beach, my heart pounded in my chest, as if it wanted to break out of a cage and wander off into the woods. I wanted to do the same. Run away. Hide. But I was no coward... I'd be no worse than anyone here if I just ran away. The screams of my fellow soldiers, that I had grown so close with, filled my ears like a loud, jarring, ongoing noise, that couldn't seem to leave me alone. Their screams haunted me. Like somehow, it was my fault. Of course it was my fault...they're out there, fighting their lives off, while I'm here, shakily staring with my hand glued onto my mouth. My eyes filled with tears, giving me a slight relief, knowing that my body could still function almost normally. I watched them, my eyes following every soldier. A brown-haired man that I had spoken to a couple of times - McWilliam, i think his name was - just fell over, his stomach being coloured in with the unmistakeable darkened colour of blood. The colour of blood is peaceful. It's dark, easy on the eyes and it's calm. But this wasn't any of that. All I could see in that colour, was death. McWilliam's eyes locked onto mine. He mouthed 'help me', his dry, purple lips struggling to move, as his lifeless eyes became even more lifeless than they were. He was dead. I didn't help him at all; I just watched. Without trying to hold back, I leaned over, face close to the beige sand and violently heaved, letting out a vomit that was just inevitable. Wave after wave, I kept throwing up until I could no longer see sand in that patch of beige that was completing my vision. The screams weren't exactly helping my nausea, but I couldn't block them out. I was stuck hearing them.
I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder. I screamed as I turned around to face just another soldier. He was on my side, thank God, but he didn't seem happy. I looked down at his torso to see a gaping hole that his hand held delicately. That violent blood colour covered his hand and his lower stomach. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching with will to live as he muttered 'I just wanted to see the face of a friend as I died'. He then fell over onto the sand and I knelt to hold him gently as his heart beat stopped. He had a fading smile on his face as he passed away. Just happy that he didn't die alone. The stench of dead bodies and loss overtook my nose as I lowered my head.
The moment that I thought was peaceful was interrupted by the sound of a gun cocking. I whipped my head around very fast - just a reflex- and saw a soldier, that was clearly on the other team, pointing his gun at me. I had two options: I could cower on my knees and beg him with all of my life to let me go. I'd promise to do anything for him, for his side...I'd be a spy, or a slave, or a rat...It don't matter. As long as he didn't kill me. Or, there was option two: die. Short. Simple. Die. Die like my brothers on the battlefield, die like everyone who was fighting in this godforsaken war, die like the brave soul I knew I could be. No more running.
God wanted this; there's a purpose. I kept telling myself that it was okay. This is what the universe desires. I can go in peace. The man on the opposite team pulled the trigger, shooting me square in the chest. I knew I was a goner from the moment he pulled that trigger and the hard metal of the bullet ripped my skin. It was over. The fight, the trials, the pain...all over. When I arrived onto this beach, the sky was cloudy, dark and it seemed like it knew that dark times we were facing...but know, as I stared at the sky, laying in the sand, the clouds were gone. The sky was clear. The sun was out. Like it was greeting me; ready for me to come to the sky. I was ready too. The taste of blood was in my mouth, I knew the taste. Like when I lost my first tooth... Or, when I fell while my dad was trying to teach me how to ride a bike... I miss my parents. I remember what they told me when I left for this war: 'come back home'. A new taste entered my mouth....Multiple tastes, actually: the taste of regret - for not trying harder to come home -, the taste of guilt, for not coming home, the taste of longing, of yearning, for a different time. A time where I didn't have to worry about any war, or death, or regrets. When all problems were solved with homemade cookies and a good laugh. A small smile made its way onto my face; no more regrets, no more yearning, no more guilt. I told myself to go in peace. Have a nice, calm, peaceful death. I heard a voice.
"It's okay, you know," it said.
It was a soft voice...the kind that sounds like a melody. A nice, warm melody that reminds you of home. Of life. Of death. And everything else the world has to offer. I briefly wondered for a moment what 'it's okay' meant, but I soon caught on. It was okay to go in peace, without pain, wether it be emotional or physical. It's okay.
"Thank you," I muttered back to the voice, "thank you so much."
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