Soldier

   I hold the gun in my hands, fingers ready to squeeze the trigger. My heart thumps so painfully in my ribcage, I start to hyperventilate. My fingers start to shake; my knees wobble. I hear my breathing come in quick, sharp breaths. I turn my head to the right, my loose helmet shaking with the movement. Suddenly the ground starts to rumble, and in the distance I see small sparks of fire.

   "Down!" I hear someone say, but it was too late.
Thud. Thud. Thud. That's all I hear before I crash into the ground. Pain flares in my legs, my arm, my chest. My back arches and I scream in pain. The sky is tainted grey, and it starts to go a darker shade. It gets darker, darker, until, nothing is left but this black abyss.

   A little white light glows in the distance and I raise my arms as if to touch it. It starts to distort, it's changing. I start to wonder if this is death or along the way to it. The light casts the shadows a little further away, though they still seem to want to snatch me in their claws and pull me back into the darkness. As the light distorts, the shadows replace where the glow doesn't touch. The shadows remind me of dogs, canines, on the prowl for their prey. The light becomes a man; a soldier. He starts to walk forward. I inch back, petrified but curious.
   "Come on, come on, don't die on me!" the soldier says to me. I frown at him- wasn't I already dead? "Come on!"

   The canine shadows halt in their advance, and they seem to lighten. I turn back to the soldier, but he isn't glowing. He's wearing a brown and green covered helmet; his face has smudges of dirt all over it. The shadows fade away, and I am at a battlefield.
   "Am I dead?" I ask in a raspy voice. The soldier laughs hysterically and taps me on the cheek.
   "Oh thank god. No you're not dead, but you will be soon if we don't get you to the infirmary."
   "What? What do you mean?"
   "Let's get you there first ok? And then I'll answer your questions."

--
  
I now understand why he wanted to tell me at the infirmary. I survived the gunshot wounds to the arm and chest. But the grenade that was at my feet destroyed me from knee down. I know I should be thankful that I survived, but I know I'm not the same. I'll never be the same- I won't be able to walk ever again. Is this what everyone calls luck? 'Cause I don't think it's lucky at all.

This is Elliott, signing off for the last time.