The once orderly and peaceful forest is now twisted and deadly. Huge splinters of wood fly through the air like daggers as trees topple and shatter into pieces. The usually calm, gentle breeze is permeated with screams and the loud reports of gunfire. The ground shudders as shells puncture its surface. A shredded and bloody tangle is all that remains of the once thick and lush undergrowth. Bullets spatter the earth, filling the air with clouds of dust. Every sense of order the forest ever knew is now gone. The air is saturated with the stench of death. Amidst the chaos, a young man lies in a pool of blood, half hidden behind a fallen tree. Two figures crouch over him.
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He feels nothing--except cold. A sickly, death-like chill has seized his entire body. Except for his stomach. His stomach is warm. He can feel the warmth slowly spreading, as if warm water is streaming from his belly button. He shivers. Everything is silent, except for a faint static in the depths of his consciousness. His vision is blurred. Two shapes loom over, and in the distance he hears a voice. The voice sounds like a drowning person trying to call for help. It sounds like it is trying to say, “Hang on!” He is so cold.
Something touches his stomach, and he recognizes a new feeling. Pain. His muscles tense, and he screams. He screams because it hurts. He wants it to end. He feels as though he is sinking into darkness; and as he sinks, some cruel, heartless person is mashing his insides. He screams again. It hurts so bad.
Then--it stops. The pain and the cold dissolve. It is over. He feels only warmth, and it feels wonderful. He is glad that the pain is gone, and that the ice has melted from his bones. Now, he only feels tired. He will take a nap, and then he will be okay. He smiles and drifts into a peaceful sleep.
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The two men fight desperately to save the man that lies on the ground between them. One is a big man, the single chevron on his shoulder marking him as a private first class; the other man, a thin medic. Blood gushes from the wounded man’s midsection. It has been blown to shreds. He is nearly cut in half. The two men try to apply pressure to the wound, but it is too big to cover. He screams and starts going into convulsions. The two men try to hold him still. He screams again. He screams so loud.
Suddenly, the man’s muscles relax. His convulsions cease. The big man falls back in despair. The medic quickly places his hand on the still man’s neck. He feels nothing. It is over.
The two men sit there for several seconds, unmoving. A single tear slides down the thin man’s face and falls. The tear lands on the dead man’s cheek, just below one of the cold, lifeless eyes. The crying man places two fingers on the silent man’s eyes, and shuts them. He rips a dog tag from the dead man’s neck and slips it in his pocket.
All around the pitiful group, chaos still reigns supreme. The chaos of war. But on the face of one man, lying between his friends, is peace.
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A short distance from the group, nearly invisible in the tall grass, lies a helmet, momentarily forgotten. On the side of the helmet, two words are written in white:
“NOBODY DIES.”
------------------------------------------------------------------
He feels nothing--except cold. A sickly, death-like chill has seized his entire body. Except for his stomach. His stomach is warm. He can feel the warmth slowly spreading, as if warm water is streaming from his belly button. He shivers. Everything is silent, except for a faint static in the depths of his consciousness. His vision is blurred. Two shapes loom over, and in the distance he hears a voice. The voice sounds like a drowning person trying to call for help. It sounds like it is trying to say, “Hang on!” He is so cold.
Something touches his stomach, and he recognizes a new feeling. Pain. His muscles tense, and he screams. He screams because it hurts. He wants it to end. He feels as though he is sinking into darkness; and as he sinks, some cruel, heartless person is mashing his insides. He screams again. It hurts so bad.
Then--it stops. The pain and the cold dissolve. It is over. He feels only warmth, and it feels wonderful. He is glad that the pain is gone, and that the ice has melted from his bones. Now, he only feels tired. He will take a nap, and then he will be okay. He smiles and drifts into a peaceful sleep.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
The two men fight desperately to save the man that lies on the ground between them. One is a big man, the single chevron on his shoulder marking him as a private first class; the other man, a thin medic. Blood gushes from the wounded man’s midsection. It has been blown to shreds. He is nearly cut in half. The two men try to apply pressure to the wound, but it is too big to cover. He screams and starts going into convulsions. The two men try to hold him still. He screams again. He screams so loud.
Suddenly, the man’s muscles relax. His convulsions cease. The big man falls back in despair. The medic quickly places his hand on the still man’s neck. He feels nothing. It is over.
The two men sit there for several seconds, unmoving. A single tear slides down the thin man’s face and falls. The tear lands on the dead man’s cheek, just below one of the cold, lifeless eyes. The crying man places two fingers on the silent man’s eyes, and shuts them. He rips a dog tag from the dead man’s neck and slips it in his pocket.
All around the pitiful group, chaos still reigns supreme. The chaos of war. But on the face of one man, lying between his friends, is peace.
--------------------------------------------------------------
A short distance from the group, nearly invisible in the tall grass, lies a helmet, momentarily forgotten. On the side of the helmet, two words are written in white:
“NOBODY DIES.”
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