The sound more than startled me, it shook my entire being. I started to gain consciousness. The ashes lying on my eyelashes scattered and floated gently in the breeze as my eyelids slowly and painfully opened. My vision was blurry; I blinked slowly several times to wipe them clean of filth. I found myself lying on the ground face up and all I could see were black clouds. The clouds covered the entire sky and only shadows of grey were visible. It looked like; no… it felt like angels of darkness floating over the sky, taking control of the situation around me. What was that smell? A better question was where was I? I thought the smell was the dark angel’s odor; the odor of mass destruction and the loss of innocent lives burned my nose and my eyes, flaming in pain, felt like claws sinking into them, ripping out my cornea. It was smoke—dark, black, and nasty. Oh, my head was pounding like a bass drum. The pain was excruciating; it felt like a water balloon ready to explode. I looked to my right and trucks were toppled over, buildings on fire, and men in camouflage clothing running frantically for cover as if the angel of death was chasing after them. I removed my hand from my head and set it down in confusion; it landed on a machine gun. Where am I? It finally dawned on me; my purpose, my mission here at war.
I started to stand up, but my leg… it hurt; I could
not get up. I grabbed my gun and I saw a man running toward me, screaming
something. I could not quite understand what he was saying, the surrounding
area—with all the gunfire and bombs— it was complete and total chaos. He
finally reached me and grabbed my arm and placed it around his neck. He started
lifting me. I felt like jello, I could barely keep my head up. He sat me down
behind a pile of sand bags or something of that sort. I looked at the man
mysteriously, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, trying to solve
the rubics cube of who he was. The dust of earth and blood of man grew over his
face. He grabbed my hand and stared into mine with anger, yet compassion and
relief peeked through his pupils. He screamed at me trying to get his soft
voice to be heard over the entire ruckus, “This time FOLLOW these orders and
STAY HERE! You were almost killed out there, since you didn’t do what you were
supposed to! Now stay here and don’t do anything else…. before you get yourself
killed.” I remember the incident. The guilt surged through by body; it suddenly
became heavy. The man gave me one last look and somehow whispered over the
gunshots, “I am just glad you are safe, Angel.” Angel? No one ever calls me
that! I could only recall one person. That one person was my best friend. He was
always there for me; whenever depression swept over me, whenever the hardest
decisions came upon me. Yes, that sounds cheesy, but it is the truth. As he
said my name, I instantly recognized his personality. All I could say was
“Ok…..Dad.”
Dad
grabbed his gun and ran around the sandbag wall and he waved his hand to call
the men to move forward. Seeing him run through the battlefield made my heart
condense and wilt, like seeing him again was soon to be extinct. Usually, it is
the father that has a hard time letting go of his little daughter, but his time
it was me. My head told me to stay and be safe, but my heart said go with him.
“BOOM” My heart echoed the noise of
the bomb. Suddenly, a screech-like scream surged through my ears—a scream of
pain, a scream of torture, a scream of death. My eyes peaked over the sack of
bags to see men lying everywhere in different shapes and forms, only to find my
dad lying there with blood pouring from his face, his hands and his feet. Without
any hesitation, I sprinted over to him. Yes, I just exposed myself to certain
death being in the middle of the battlefield, but daddy was hurt, he needed
help. As I examined his body, I knew his “booboo” could not be healed with a
little kiss; it is going to take a lot more than that. Greatly through pain,
now, his veins have greatly been through torture. He gestured for me to
come closer. My ear was to his mouth. With every last breath he said, “Angel, I
am… sorry for… everything. Finish…. the job. I lo…” Lightning struck below the
dark clouds. My mind was blank. My heart was torn. My soul was incomplete. The
happiness of my soul was too weak to be exposed. Faster than I could say “Jiminy
Crickets”, a man dragged me away, where only one wing was left flying.
I woke up, staring at a gray, cement
ceiling. I started to cry. The memory of yesterday’s tragedy, hit me like a gun
shot. Of my actions, the incident has tortured- has disintegrated- has
beaten me. The death of my father… just thinking about the nightmare, made
me shrivel and burn into ashes. My father’s death was hard to grasp, but the
cause of this tragic tragedy was spilt on my hands. It is my fault. The pain,
guilt and emptiness in my soul inhaled every last bit of happiness, leaving me
with nothing. I could not take it anymore; the pain was eating me alive. I
glanced around the room frantically, looking for any escape. My eyes came upon
knife. That knife was looking more and more satisfying by the second. I grabbed
it with hesitation. Just before the knife pierced through my heart, the door
opened and John, my best friend, knocked the knife out of my hand. He yelled,
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” All I could do was cry, and he dragged me out to the
hallway.
It was dark, cold and it smelled
funky. His soft voice comforted me, but yet it was firm and filled with concern,
“What’s wrong? Tell me everything, the full on truth.” I hesitated, wondering
if telling him was the right choice. Guilt shot through by body, “It’s about my
father,” the room was silent; only a faint sound of the cold air flowing
through was heard. A tear trickled down my face; it landed on the cold ground,
which was the loudest noise. I continued, “His death was my fault. If I hadn’t
just followed the orders like a good soldier he would be alive.” I started to
bawl. John replied, “It’s not your fault!” I screamed, “Yes it is! Because of
me and my stupidity, he’s dead.” John gave me a, you are unbelievable glare. He said, “I will say this again, it was
not your fault! Now let me tell you this. Your father was a great man. He
changed the course of this war. It was not your fault. What happens happens.
Nature took its course…. Everybody makes mistakes. It is not your fault.” I was
then capable of holding my tears back. Yeah,
he’s right it is not my fault. Nature took its course. Relax…. but because of
me and my stupidity he is gone. I replied, “But if I would have just
followed orders…” John interrupted, “Stop denying the fact that it wasn’t
you’re your fault. Your dad died a noble man, now you have to let that spirit
live with him.” I started to tense. Looking down to the floor, I noticed a
strangely shaped shadow. It was looking me straight into the eye and a grin was
smothered throughout the shadow. Then the thought of the satisfying knife came upon
my mind again.
-
The glee of my heart was too strong to be
restrained.
-
In their consequences, these events have
terrified- have tortured- have destroyed me.
-
Here at least, than, my labor has not been in
vain.
