Every time it is similar to the original but with freakish sidebars. As horrible as the first time was, the repeats are worse. Please pardon my tears since I can never talk about it without emotions rushing to the forefront. It has been years but even still I cannot cope.
We stood on a hill looking at people below. It wasn’t a large crowd. Maybe 10 to 15 people. Perhaps it was a family. That may better explain the horrible screams I heard later. It happened without warning. There was a sudden cloud of dust and people flew away from it. It was the one child that won’t leave me. I watched in astonishment as she flew through the air.
That instant of time ground to a halt. Every detail chemically burned into the negatives of my mind. Each element crisp and every component fully and completely melted into my being. The instant she rose into the air, I could only wonder, how was she flying? Was the dust cloud the result of her propulsion?
Then the awful truth began to settle upon me like a suffocating blanket. It was an explosion. At the instant this thought hit me, I saw her forearm detach with a puff of red. My mind screamed, “No, no, no, no, not her.” I don’t even know who she is but, God, not a child. Who could she have hurt to deserve this?
She
continue rising into the air, detached arm awkwardly flailing when the sound
reached me. It was a shell. I heard the scream and boom. How many times have I heard something similar
in training, in combat, at 4th of July celebrations? I love my country and even though I know it
wasn’t one of ours, what the hell has this world come to that we target
civilians?
We
remained, under orders, in our positions even though we could have helped. Instead, we endured the wails of those below
us. The cries of the wounded, broken,
maimed never leave me. I have friends who returned home in a box. Some went home without parts, much like that little girl, if she survived. I came home without a scratch on my body but I have too many scars to bear.
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