I’m Alright In Bed But I’m Better With A Pen

(Staring at the carnage, praying that the sun will never rise.
Living another day in disguise. )

The gunfire got closer to the group of soldiers. There were 8 of them; Matt only knew 4 of the other people there. He had come away with his friend, Johnny, and had been placed in a unit with Zacky, Brian and Jimmy. They had been serving the best part of a year and a half. It was a miracle none of them had been hurt, they had been lucky in that department. Matt had a feeling that their luck had just about run out. Things had been going too smoothly, leaving an uncomfortable mix of nerves and terror in the pit of his stomach.

(These feelings can’t be right, lend me your courage to stand up and fight,
On tonight.

Stand up and fight. )

He felt like a wimp. None of the other seemed to be scared, or they were just better at hiding it than he was. They were positioned around the corner from where the gunfire was coming from. When it seemed like they were just around the corner, Brian signalled for them all to stand up and prepare their weapons. Matt pulled his rifle from his back and took off the safety catch. He bit his lip in anticipation, hating the fact that the butterflies in his stomach had escalated to eagles. He swallowed several times, willing his breakfast to stay in his stomach. Brian advanced towards the corner, like a wildcat ready to pounce.

(Now fighting rages on and on, to challenge me you must be strong.
I'll walk your land but don't be long, two million soldiers can’t be wrong. )

It seemed like one moment, he was standing preparing to fight and the next he was ten metres from that spot. He pulled himself off the ground and looked around. A crater marked the ground around the corner from where they had sat only minutes before. The wall they had been taking refuge behind was reduced to rubble and he could see the enemy fleeing. To his right, Zacky pulled himself off the ground, as did Johnny and Jimmy.

Zacky grimaced. The others and Brian had not been so lucky. Even from metres away, they could tell that he was dead. His body was mutilated beyond recognition and limbs that should have been there were absent. Blood marked the dusty ground, signalling the price they had paid. Without speaking, they slunk into the shadows and headed back to their base. For the first time ever, Matt cursed his instincts for being right; he wouldn’t have minded being wrong for that once.

(It’s no fun but I’ve been here before.
I'm far from home and I'm fighting your war. )

“And we're at it again, I turn around another fucking war, man,” Matt sang under his breath. He had no idea where the words came from but they poured out of his mouth and he had to wonder if he could have done something more creative with his life after all. Life was short, shorter still if you were in the army, and Matt desperately wanted to make the best out of his. It wasn’t his war, but there he was, trapped fighting to give freedom to people who seemed to enjoy killing others. A vicious circle that was going to keep repeating until somebody worked out that them being there wasn’t going to help; it was just resulting in death and pain. It wasn’t that Matt had pictured a glamorous life as a hero who got all the ladies. He had known that he would be tested to his limits on a daily basis; he just hadn’t expected how many unexpected feelings it would bring to the surface.

(Not the way I pictured this, I wanted better things)

Matt hadn’t always wanted to be in the army. When he was still in school, he had wanted to be a rock star, playing metal music to millions of adoring fans. Then again, it was rather far fetched. Not everybody became famous; not everyone accomplished their lifelong dreams. Bitter thoughts clouded his thoughts like moths to a lamp; that life would have been better than the one he had. Fans, friends, flings and everything you wanted at your fingertips, instead of explosions, enemies and insomnia.

(Some are scared others killing for fun, I shot a mother right in front of her son. )

It wasn’t something that Matt was proud of. But he did what he had to do and tried not to think about it. Sometimes, drastic measures needed to be taken to get people to give the information that was needed. Matt wished he was higher up in the ranking system. His commander had told him to kill the woman and he simply had to follow his orders. He couldn’t do any different, even if he wanted to with every fibre of his being. In the army, an order was an order.

((Change this from my consciousness and please erase my dreams)
Fight for honour, fight for your life.
Pray to god that our side is right. )

Everyday was a battle to survive, a long tiring battle, which made Matt more and more scared by the day that he was going to lose. At night as he lay in his bunk, trying to slip into an uneasy sleep filled with images of the carnage and suffering, he would think about all the people who made the decisions. He cursed those he sat comfortable in America and handed out commands to those in the face of death and pain. They were the ones with the power to change this, the ones who could stop the whole war and send the unhappy troops home. Who said that they were even correct to do such things? Did they really know that they were on the side that was right? Matt had never believed in God, but he prayed that if there was one, he was on the side that was justified; that he was fighting for a real cause.

(You know we won but still we lose, until I make it home to you.
I see your mother still in tears; we grew up so fast, where did those years go?
Memories won’t let you cry; unless I don't return tonight. )

All it took was one gunshot. Johnny fell clutching his leg and yelling in pain. Machine gunfire ripped through the air and Matt dived behind a barricade for cover. When it went quiet, he peeked around the edge. Horror rippled through him when he crawled to Johnny to pull him behind the barricade. Blood oozed from multiple bullet holes in his side and one to his head signalled gave Matt the reason why Johnny wasn’t cracking an awful joke at his own expense. Matt cursed, then scrambled for cover as the bullets started to fly through the air once more. He had promised Johnny’s mother that he would look out for Johnny and make sure he was okay. He shook away the thoughts of her grief when the letter made its way in the mail.

(So many soldiers on the other side, I take their life so they don't take mine.
(Scared to make it out alive, now murders all I know.) )

Killing was something that Matt knew he would never get used to or much less enjoy. Every time he pulled the trigger and someone fell, he felt guilt and anger towards himself, enemy or not. He only killed them to keep himself alive, he wanted to be returning home when he had served his time.

(Nobody tells me all the reasons we’re here, I am a weapon so there's nothing to fear.
(Another day another life but nothing real to show for.) )

It wasn’t something you could write on a job application. “Served in Iraq, killed many people.” It made him sound cold and uncaring, when in reality, he felt he cared too much. He cared about the fact that people were dying, he cared that he might have killed innocent people and he cared that he might never see 25 years old. Matt had never been an emotionless droid, far from it. He was a hot head, always getting into fights because he couldn’t keep his emotions in check.

(Fight for honour, fight for your life.
Pray to god that our side is right.
You know we won but still we lose, until I make it home to you.
I see your mother still in tears we grew up so fast where did those years go.
Memories won’t let you cry; unless I don't return tonight.

Staring at the carnage, praying that the sun will never rise.
Living another day in disguise.
These feelings can’t be right, lend me your courage to stand up and fight. )

The sun slipped below the horizon, leaving the blood red sky to drain away and casting long shadows over the battlefield. Casting his eyes over the devastation, Matt wondered whether his body would be joining the many that were strewn over the potholed, damaged ground. Was he next? Two of his friends lay out there somewhere, their bodies unburied, left to rot. It was unfair, grossly unfair, but then again, life’s unfair.

(Watching the death toll rise, wondering how I'm alive.
Strangers’ blood on my hands, showed all I can. )

He looked to his hands, which were caked in dried blood. He didn’t know who it belonged to; some of it was his, but he hadn’t bled enough for that to be the case for all of it. Images of his comrades falling around him as the enemy fire took their lives played before his eyes, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t shake it away. Then he placed the source of the blood. It was from the one person he had actually wanted to kill, the first since he arrived a year earlier. The man who murdered someone he had met through being placed in a unit with him, but one of the only ones he wanted to remain in contact with when they returned home.

(There were no sunny nights, watching your brothers all die.)

Jimmy.

His best friend out here. They barely knew each other, there was no time for that, but war had a funny way of pulling people together and forcing friendships of sorts. They had kept each other sane, relied on each other for support. Matt choked back a sob at the memory of Jimmy’s last moments.

“Remember me, dude. I’ll be waiting on the other side.” He lay on the ground, limbs at odd angles and blood pouring from a wound in his stomach. Damage beyond repair. Jimmy knew he wasn’t going home, Matt knew Jimmy wasn’t moving from where he lay. He would never return to his fiancé, Rebecca, in California. He was powerless to help his friend. A feeling of complete insignificance and smallness. He was merely a pawn in someone’s game of chess. A game that they were losing badly.

He knelt at Jimmy’s side, taking his hand. “I’ll see you there,” he whispered. A wave of pain washed over Jimmy’s face and he squeezed Matt’s hand slightly. His chest shook with loud hacking coughs, which brought blood to Jimmy’s mouth. Matt squeezed Jimmy’s hand, trying to be comforting, but knowing that Jimmy could tell how terrified he really was. Another loud cough ripped through Jimmy’s form and he whimpered with the pain. Despite the unadulterated agony, he managed a small smile, before his eyes slid closed and his body stilled.

He was gone.

(To destroy all their plans with no thought of me. (No thought of me)
No thought of me. )

“Go, go, go!” the Sergeant yelled and Matt scampered along the walls of the building they were trying to seize. A smashed door lay before them and Matt ran inside, Zacky by his side. A gunshot sounded and Zacky fell. Matt paused momentarily, trying to see if he was alive or not. A soldier behind him shoved him on, “He’s dead.” War left no sensitivity to death, things were no longer sugar coated or fluffed up. They were served raw and cold. ‘4 down, 1 to go,’ Matt thought bitterly.

(We'll walk the city lonely, memories that are not passing by.
A murderer walks your streets tonight. )

He looked down at his hands, turning them over slowly. He almost expected there to be blood on his palms, marking him for the monster he was. War had changed him. He had gone from a regular guy to a murderous animal in a matter of two years. Two years in Iraq, without family or friends, just his comrades. He didn’t describe them as friends, just people that made the business of war more bearable. He had spent six months there after all the people he had actually valued had died. Six lonely months, where he spent every moment wondering if he would make it home or not. Now that he was home, he couldn’t bear to be in a room with his family. They didn’t know him anymore. They knew from the second that they saw him that he was a shadow of his former self. He took at least 3 long walks a day and only came out of his room for meals. War had damaged him and he was still healing. He would never forget watching his friends’ deaths; that would serve as a constant reminder to him that war was ugly.

He had returned from a war in Iraq to find himself in a war with himself. But unlike the war he had left, he would be fighting this one for a long time. It would be a war that he would take to the grave.

(Forgive me for my crimes.
Don't forget that I was so young, but so scared.
In the name of God and Country.)