In Arms

It all started...

The helicopter flew into our forests two days ago, chopping the air like a large dragonfly with gauze wings splayed, plastered in metal and broken. We heard it in the dawn and I wiped the dew wet inside my ears so that I could hear it again, chopping the air through our trees. The men jumped up, and so did he, hush-hushing the fear and surprise. I forgot to breathe.

We found it today, sunning itself, its shadow short in the high hours of noon, waiting. By the time I got to it, running, yelling, victory in my ears, the men had already gotten to the pilot. He drooped over the side of the rusted door with a small red hole on one side of his head and a large splash of black death yawning on the other, his army uniform scattered in green shaded shreds. A bullet can take away a lot with it; it comes in like a thief and leaves like a drunkard.

I climbed onto the top of the metal creature, beating its green head with my fists, thinking it would crush in like a tin cup, victory in my ears. But no, the enemy would be stronger, I hurt my hand, there was blood on metal oozing, I did not care. I had wrestled a beast and put it to its death. I broke my red glass bangle.