There are no heroes in war.
If you told that when I first enlisted, I would've scoffed in your face. Hell, my reason for enlisting was to be one.
Back then, I convinced myself I'd only save the good from the evil. That my fight would be limited to the ugliest and worst that humanity had to offer. I'd be a legendary liberator of justice!
But war, real war, isn't like the fiction you see in gas and movies.
War isn't exciting, it isn't hopeful, and it certainly isn't enjoyable. Instead, war is a place of fear...desperation. A place where morally good n and won are corrupted into savagery. A place where we're dood to brutalize one another to survive just one more day.
For those reasons, I couldn't believe heroes were forged from war. On the contrary, the battlefield was just a breeding ground for monsters.
"W-What…happened?" My ears rang, and my vision blurred. Every muscle and every joint within throbbed with searing pain. ntally, I was just as impaired; my mind was sealed within a foggy haze.
Four years of active service, that's how long I survived. Yet that veterancy amounted to nothing; my gut still felt queasy at what I saw. Never had I witnessed a scene as grisly and grotesque as this, or maybe I had, and I just repressed it.
Our transport took the brunt of it. What remained was a worthless scrap heap of warped steel and smoldering ash. Leaking from it were fuel trails forming rivers of consuming fire. The smoke from the hungry flas forced its way into my lungs, swirling within my body as an insidious invader, burning from the inside out.
My comrades were next. Those with whom I shared unbreakable bonds were now dleys of body parts splayed across the ground. The only exceptions were those already reduced to ashes. The sole reminder of their mory were the piles of charred bone they'd left in their place.
"My friends... All of them dead..." I mumbled with a blank expression. "Reduced as fodder and sacrificed to the war machine." Though a broiling fury rumbled beneath my skin, my body was frozen stiff in shock, unable to express the emotions on my exterior.
Depressingly enough, though I hailed these recently departed as friends, I had no tears to shed for them; they were long dried up at this point.
That's not to say I didn't care for them. It's just that, over the years, I shared als, stories, and hardships with hundreds just like them. Sadly, those journeys of companionship always ended the exact sa way...
No matter how sturdy their bodies or robust their minds, I was the one left behind. I was the last one standing. That's why I was so accustod to it; losing comrades was just another facet of life for .
That said, I had one thought: 'Why am I still alive? Why did I live while the others found their early graves?' A forlorn laugh escaped my chapped lips. 'And yet, I don't feel lucky.'
Quite the contrary, I lanted my fate, the fate of living on with suffering as my only horizon. I lanted the arrival of another day with such spite that I considered my comrades' deaths to be a rcy for them.
They had no ti to reflect on their lives. No ti to cry for their loved ones or curse their pointless deaths in a pointless war. They were free from the madness that was human greed and corruption. Free from the burns, the bullet wounds, and all the ntal anguish that ca afterward.
"Those lucky b*st*-" a fit of bloody coughs possessed , exacerbating my already shallow breathing. My lower lip beca glossed with a solution of saliva and blood. 'Guess I can't get too worked up.'
I slumped my head over while instinctively shifting my one still functioning hand to pressure my wounds. Sadly, my effort was futile; it only coated my fingers in scattered red.
I looked down to see shards of jagged debris jutting from my stomach. "A g-gut wound…." I hoarsely cackled. "I'm not walking this off."
A sudden death wasn't surprising; it ca with the job description. What shocked was my agreent with the mission to begin with. Even on paper, we all knew we'd have to make the ultimate sacrifice.
"Yet we all agreed... We're fools, aren't we?" I forlornly sighed, then averted my gaze to my side in search of a response. But there would be none. The soldier and friend at my side had already succumbed to their blood loss, their face mangled with crimson stains and regret.
'Ah, right. The dead can't speak...'
We were charged with drawing enemy fire away from a civilian convoy.
It wasn't just my team; various other squads were conscripted too. We congealed into a makeshift battalion, forming what would be our ragtag suicide corp. Despite being complete strangers, we'd all be bound together by the cold grip of death.
Imdiately after reaching our rendezvous point, we ca under heavy fire from invading forces. We fought the good fight against insurmountable odds for a while.
Between our posts, the echo of crackling gunfire, thrumming engines, and thunderous explosions bounced between the city's concrete buildings. It was like a biblical apocalypse given form.
Moral of the story is: the battlefield was anything but quiet.
Even so, every sound paled in comparison to that piercing whistle. It was a familiar sound, one that resonated within with equal parts fascination to terror.
'Maybe they're finally giving a sh*t...' was my first thought.
I hoped it was celestial. I thought the heavens were finally taking action and putting an end to the perpetual tragedy that was my existence; that they were grieving for the souls lost in this wasteful war. That's what I wished, but I should've known there'd be no weeping for the likes of us.
That whistle wasn't so crying god or goddess, expressing their angst for humankind. Instead, it was the sound of impending death... An artillery shell.
"I wonder what fool thought of the phrase 'for the greater good,' anyway," I mumbled, my voice dripping with cynicism.
It was a genuine question, one devoid of any rhetoric. Had the creator or creators considered the true madness and macabre ramifications of which they preached?
Sure, in theory, martyring oneself for another was just "the right thing to do." But, in reality, that was only one side of the coin - the side depicting the protected fortunate few.
However, every coin can be flipped, and when you were the at shield, you quickly realized that side was reserved for the foolish.
As it turned out, that fleeting sensation of nobility was nothing more than a novelty. By the ti that natural high of satisfaction wore off, it was already too late. Your soul, your very core, would already be poisoned with regret. It'd seep through your veins like a heinous venom, corrupting your optimism to pure loathing for a world gone insane.
In the end, you realize that nothing was satisfying about it. The movies... The gas... The books... EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. of those godd*mn hyped-up stories of grandeur; it was all a lie.
Protecting others was just a terrifying and bitter-filled experience. One that made you lant the people you were dying for, not celebrate them.
'How could they abandon us?! We're the protectors of those in need, but who's there to protect us?!' I cursed everyone and everything for my circumstances while my blood boiled hotter than fla. It wasn't from the fast-approaching inferno. Rather, it was the seething burn of hatred-fueled anger inside .
Despite that, I knew the anger wasn't sensible. I knew I had made my own grave with my own choices, but dying wasn't sothing that inspired a rational mind. On the contrary, I was stuck in irrationality.
I clenched my still functioning fist tight; it was my effort to relieve the turbulent emotions inside . After the wildfire of anger ca a flood of woe.
Reflecting on my mories, once hopeful but now marred by loss and unfulfilled aspirations, I ca to the realization that I never achieved my adolescent dream of becoming a hero.
'How...did this happen? Where did I go wrong?' I sifted through my life, all in search of the "why," or the "how." I was supposed to be so much more, and I did everything right; everything I was supposed to.
'So why? Why am I dying like a dog in a napalm-filled oven? Why is there so much restlessness and regret stirring in my heart? Why don't I feel pride, like I thought I would?!' I clenched my teeth tight, holding back multiple years' worth of screaming.
By now, I thought I'd have toppled a tyranny or two. I was supposed to be adorned with a wall of dals across my chest, proving I was a man amongst n. I'd be a savior to those I wanted to save.
Sadly, as the years slogged by, that goal beca increasingly inaccessible to .
I never defeated any oppressor. I'd only slain countless others who were, like , just fighting for their right to survive.
As for the dals, they were just aningless hunks of polished rock compared to what I'd done to obtain them.
'So much for glory,' I relaxed with a sullen sigh and angled my gaze upward, finding myself blinded by its radiance.
The encroaching inferno tore from thought, replacing my wheezing with pained whimpers. While searing its way up, the flas left blackened streaks across my skin. It sank into my wounds upon reaching my stomach, thoroughly grilling my insides.
I opened my mouth to scream, but the pain robbed of my ability to produce sound.
The irony of it all was that, despite being a human torch, my body felt the coldest it had ever been. I focused on what was the bright afternoon sky, but even that beca unnaturally dark.
It was as if the Sun had burnt out, transferring its raging inferno within . Everything else soon followed suit.
Like my flesh, the world I spent the past twenty-two years in was crumbling away toward obscurity.
'This is actually it. I'm dying...' This was an event I always told myself I wanted. Ever since my second year of enlistnt, I've wanted to escape this hell. But, now that I was finally at the pivotal mont, I couldn't help but reflect on the naivety of my past.
Those few years ago, I believed I'd die an admirable and heroic death, the kind that could end in the history books. I thought I'd die a death that gave aning to my choices and principles. A death that proved my life ant sothing.
'Look at you now,' I hopelessly smirked, the corners of my eyes twitching with a forlorn sting. 'You've successfully wasted your life. Mission accomplished!'
Far from a morable ending, I was dood to die as a aningless statistic.
'It's fine, I'll probably live on as a dusty file in so abandoned archive. What greater honor than that?' I chuckled in sarcasm, but soon the emotion plaguing broke free.
A new pain welled up around my blackened eyes. It wasn't born from cuts or burns. Instead, it ca from deep within my heart.
'Dammit, shut up, you idiot!' I ntally slapped myself.
I had to silence these kinds of dissenting thoughts. I couldn't allow myself down that road. If I did, I wouldn't be able to hold it back. 'The least I can do is die like a true soldier, free from regrets!'
But I was too late…
Thanks to my reflections, the one thought I figured I'd never consider beca all I could think about. As it turned out, though I convinced myself I wanted death, it was a facade. A facade that stripped away like rust to a weathered pipe when the reaper finally confronted .
The irony of it was palpable, and a bitter laugh escaped as my tears burned off my ashen skin.
'I don't want to die….'
***
I regained consciousness to see I was enveloped in darkness.
'Ugh... It's so dark,' I inwardly griped and tried opening my eyes. However, I soon discovered they weren't ever closed.
Shut eyelids didn't block my vision; it was the ominous stare of the abyss.
'Ah...guess I'm dead.' I didn't feel any particular way with the realization; maybe the reality hadn't yet sunk in.
I wasn't sure what to expect in the afterlife, but this hadn't been anything like I hoped or dreaded. Instead of paradise or suffering, I was ripped from reality. I could only describe this experience as being set adrift in a waterless sea...alone.
'This might not be that bad,' I sighed in relief. I'm sure the thought would've terrified anyone else, but floating through an empty void for eternity appealed to .
Compared to the throes of death, the rhythmic clapping of gunfire, and the drone of active war machines, the sound of nothing was soul-soothing music. The kind that could lull a newborn baby to sleep.
I closed my eyes, content with an eternity of darkened isolation. Ironically, that eternity was short-lived; it was cut off by a hoarse voice.
"-proaching…"
The voice was faint like soone spoke to from the other side of a very long tunnel.
'Is soone there?' I tried to call out. However, though my mouth perford the motions, I produced no noise. Did I forget how to speak?
The voice returned, this ti sounding closer.
"-epare… ar…val…heroes."
Abandoning a vocal response, I tried reaching out. That, too, ended in failure. I was halted by a twinge of sharpness within my chest. It began as a pinch, a minor discomfort. But, as ti passed, the pinch beca a throb, and the throb beca a stab. Eventually, my body transford into a vessel for the word "agony."
My insides were stuck in an endless cycle. Like they were being carved apart and put back together with glue, over and over again. Even the sensation of being incinerated was dwarfed in comparison.
Minutes were hours as I writhed.
'Get it out of … GET IT OUT OF !!!' I vigorously clawed at my chest, seriously considering the possibility of tearing it out if it ant that the suffering would cease. I wholeheartedly believed I was on the verge of losing my sanity. Luckily, the suffering relented before that, leaving my near-broken mind intact.
When the pain ceased, I blanked out of consciousness. My body must've needed a factory reset after all of that. Unfortunately, relief would still be a far-gone sensation, considering that a cold pressure began coiling around my ankle.
Swiveling my body towards it, I saw a vibrant green doorway of swirling light. The pressure tightened and dragged toward the cryptic portal.
'Screw it, I'm too tired to struggle anymore. Besides, my fight is over,' is what I thought with bottomless relief.
Little did I know, I couldn't have been more wrong. Wrong because this end was the beginning. The beginning of a decades long war that'd engulf a world in strife and tragedy.
Little did I know… I'd be dropped right in the middle of it.
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