War

A blood red sun set on the eve of the event. And no one ever saw again; and no one ever was. There was no was ever again.

War is changing. War is a transformation process. It is a sick kind of torture. War is that which is not, and, therefore, turns people. Yes, it turns people. There’s no way around that. War turned me, and it turned everyone around me. It rises quickly, too quickly. It’s up before there’s time to run. By the time it’s down, it’s too late. The sun rises golden and sets marooned. The night only brings redemption. And that’s when the change sets in.

I was assigned to the third unit of the battalion. Yes, that was my unit; my group; my team; my brethren. And I was glad for it. I went to fight for it all. I went to vie for the cause, and I was happy to do it. I needed to fight, if I didn’t fight, then who would? Someone needs to fight, right? So, I fought. Well, I went to anyway. Before they would let us fight, though, we needed to train. So, we trained. We trained and we trained and we trained. We trained because we knew it would help us fight. We trained so we could defeat the enemy and help the cause. We trained for good, as to vanquish evil.

They showed us techniques and they showed us strategy. And we gladly accepted both. I had a friend; his name was Gus. Gus and I talked often about the war. We were so ready; we were so ready to fight. Gus was big and muscular, I wasn’t. I figured that as long as I stayed near to Gus, I would be protected. I had found my protector. That’s what most of the smaller guys did, found a bigger one to hide behind. I didn’t want to hide; I just wanted a shield. The way I saw it, I was a better fighter alive then I was dead.

We arrived amidst fire. It was very loud. I tried to cover my ears, but a bullet grazed my raising hand, severing my pinky finger. I couldn’t hear my screams over the catastrophic noise, but I was sure they were there. I looked to Gus and for a moment he looked to me as well. A bullet ended our exchange quickly. I couldn’t really see through Gus’ blood, but I knew then that I had to get down. I threw myself forward and landed in a muddy trench. I looked up to see what I could. Through the smoke I was barely able to make out the rising sun, shining golden through the horror. “Good morning boys!” I remember the sergeant’s words, but I wish I didn’t.

I quickly covered my bleeding hand in mud, hoping to stall the blood flow. I looked around, terrified, trying to see the current strategic maneuver we were exhibiting. Yet, I was met only with chaos. I grabbed a passing soldier and asked him about our plan. He looked at me, both angry and bewildered, and threw me aside, mumbling obscenities under his breath. I decided that I would have to take my chances alone. So I rose from the trench.

There wasn’t much to see. Passing objects and spurting blood and smoke. The air was articulately designed from painful screams and metallic wrenches. The eerie disaster was somewhat profound. It was an exhibition, an art form. And, for the moment, I was able to admire its craft. Then something hit me, something that held with it more force than I had ever met. It slammed me back into the trench, impaling my right arm on a discarded machete. I felt an immediate sharp pain in my left shoulder as I realized I had suffered yet another bullet wound. It was then that I lost what little I had left. I began to close my eyes, and give into what I believed to be death’s embrace, when I was lifted onto a stretcher and carried away from it all.

They bandaged my left hand, my left shoulder, and my right forearm, and sent me back into the darkness. How it was dark in mid day was none of my concern. I could not imagine such events taking place within light. I could not even imagine the eventual prospect of light. I grabbed a rifle and my mind was gone. If it was a certain uniform and it was moving, I shot it. I shot whatever it was that I could. I shot and I shot. I shot until I couldn’t. I shot until I passed out from pain. I carried myself until it was impossible and implausible. And when I had nothing left, when the blood loss and the pain became more than any mortal form could bare, I collapsed and presented heaven with one final, hopeless gaze. There sat a blood drenched orb, slowly making its way west. It sank into the earth like so many forgotten vessels, and I watched in awe as I too sank. So the tides had turned, and my day had come full circle.

Who is to say what war is. No one can define a way; No one can define it. Such a task is left to God. And even God turns his head and frowns. Even the light looks away at this, and sacrifices itself to do so. Even God is forced to forsake the golden, casting it down, wrapped in its own life. So it is that a blood red sun will set, and the event will be assigned no fate, for there is no such fate. No, there is only redemption. This is the change and the promise and the was that will be.

A guy