Status: 06.20.16
Bone Echoes
Reality Flashes
For fifty plus years, the horrors from my past have haunted me. The ear-piercing cries of my fellow brethren, crawling out from deep inside their throats as their last breath exited their bodies; what once were brave men transformed into lifeless corpses piled atop one another. The nonstop sound of rapid gun fire all around, their empty shell casings crashing to the earth, burying themselves in the purity of the snow beneath my combat boots – as if they could wash away the consequences of their actions.
The battle raged on without me, taking no notice to the young, newly enlisted eighteen year old boy. The other soldiers fought without hesitation. They appeared to enjoy the bloodshed and the high accumulation of dying enemies they were responsible for. As I stumbled through the trees, following blindly behind the troops I saw nothing, but a blur of bloody faces – some of which were unrecognizable from the bullets that had penetrated through and left gaping holes to be remembered by. Fear laced my veins.
I stood, frozen in the middle of the woods, watching the slaughter that ensued in the middle of nowhere; in some no name forest, the middle of the night, in the blistering cold of a dead winter. Even the cleanliness of the snow could not evade the tainting of red – unconsciously accepting spilt blood on its hands, soaking the liquid in.
A far cry from another soldier disrupted me from my thoughts. He ran towards me, looking panicked. His continued shouts drowned in the action around us never reaching my ears. I watched as he thrashed his arm in my direction, pointing directly at me. Unsure of what he was doing, I glanced around me and spotted an unhooked grenade a foot away from me.
It was too late. I had barely taken two steps before the grenade exploded, a deafening sound erupting from the handheld bomb. The blast sent me soaring through the air, crashing me into one of the many trees and knocking me unconscious. The last sound I heard was a faint, high-pitch ringing that echoed through my bones.
For fifty plus years, the memories of my past have haunted me. Even in my sleep. The medical term was post traumatic stress disorder, but there was nothing post about it; post meant after, but I was not dealing with anything after the war.
I hadn't lived a single day after the war. Perpetually stuck reliving my time in the forest. There were brief moments when I would be graced with a glimpse of reality, however short those moments lasted I could never recall.
The doctors came for my daily check-in, telling me today's date as if it held any significance to me. Uninterested, I continued to read their lips as they went on to explain the meaning of the holiday and mouthed that I should watch the fireworks display from my window later tonight.
The sun had set and night had enshrouded the world in its darkness. I pulled myself out from my bed and sat in my one chair by the window, perched and waiting for these so called fireworks I had never seen before.
I couldn't hear when it started. Instead, I saw the explosion of light and smoke. The black of the night retreated as the explosion of red and orange consumed the sky in its flames. The eruption of colors resembled the life-changing detonation of the grenade in the forest.
Terror-stricken, I collapsed to the floor, screaming and shaking as the war drew me back in, pulling me away from the reality I hardly knew. As I drifted into the body of my eighteen year old self, my lost hearing returned; my eardrums from before the grenade were intact, but with it came the ear-splitting sound that left me deaf and hearing nothing but the reverberating ring that lived in my bones.
The battle raged on without me, taking no notice to the young, newly enlisted eighteen year old boy. The other soldiers fought without hesitation. They appeared to enjoy the bloodshed and the high accumulation of dying enemies they were responsible for. As I stumbled through the trees, following blindly behind the troops I saw nothing, but a blur of bloody faces – some of which were unrecognizable from the bullets that had penetrated through and left gaping holes to be remembered by. Fear laced my veins.
I stood, frozen in the middle of the woods, watching the slaughter that ensued in the middle of nowhere; in some no name forest, the middle of the night, in the blistering cold of a dead winter. Even the cleanliness of the snow could not evade the tainting of red – unconsciously accepting spilt blood on its hands, soaking the liquid in.
A far cry from another soldier disrupted me from my thoughts. He ran towards me, looking panicked. His continued shouts drowned in the action around us never reaching my ears. I watched as he thrashed his arm in my direction, pointing directly at me. Unsure of what he was doing, I glanced around me and spotted an unhooked grenade a foot away from me.
It was too late. I had barely taken two steps before the grenade exploded, a deafening sound erupting from the handheld bomb. The blast sent me soaring through the air, crashing me into one of the many trees and knocking me unconscious. The last sound I heard was a faint, high-pitch ringing that echoed through my bones.
For fifty plus years, the memories of my past have haunted me. Even in my sleep. The medical term was post traumatic stress disorder, but there was nothing post about it; post meant after, but I was not dealing with anything after the war.
I hadn't lived a single day after the war. Perpetually stuck reliving my time in the forest. There were brief moments when I would be graced with a glimpse of reality, however short those moments lasted I could never recall.
The doctors came for my daily check-in, telling me today's date as if it held any significance to me. Uninterested, I continued to read their lips as they went on to explain the meaning of the holiday and mouthed that I should watch the fireworks display from my window later tonight.
The sun had set and night had enshrouded the world in its darkness. I pulled myself out from my bed and sat in my one chair by the window, perched and waiting for these so called fireworks I had never seen before.
I couldn't hear when it started. Instead, I saw the explosion of light and smoke. The black of the night retreated as the explosion of red and orange consumed the sky in its flames. The eruption of colors resembled the life-changing detonation of the grenade in the forest.
Terror-stricken, I collapsed to the floor, screaming and shaking as the war drew me back in, pulling me away from the reality I hardly knew. As I drifted into the body of my eighteen year old self, my lost hearing returned; my eardrums from before the grenade were intact, but with it came the ear-splitting sound that left me deaf and hearing nothing but the reverberating ring that lived in my bones.