Short Stories

Unforgettable (Memorial Day)

 | Warning: Contains blood and violence. Depictions may not be accurate. Reader Discretion is advised. |

His head pounded in sync with his heart as he rolled over to the other barricade. Blood rushed through his veins and out any small wounds he had. Shouting, yelling, and gunfire was all to be heard, and his vision was greatly dimmed by the pollution caused by kicked up dust and gunpowder. His lungs were screaming for clean air, but he knew he couldn't give up now.

As he went to shoot his gun at the enemy troops, he felt a sharp pain through his side. His knees buckled and he fell over, his gun slipping out of his hands. He put a hand on his side.

Shot.

He covered his wound the best he could, blood pouring out of it. He knew he needed to get to the nearest field medic. Lying on his stomach, he crawled towards the medic, trying not to get more injured than he already was. His heartbeat rang in his ears. Ba-Bum Ba-Bum, Ba-Bum Ba-Bum.  It was going fast, meaning the blood was even faster. He forced himself to calm down so the blood flow wasn't as bad. As he dragged himself towards the medic, he watched as his fellow brothers in arms were shot down dead. Tears sprung in his eyes and threatened to come out. He knew most of them. Yet he pushed on. 

It was getting harder and harder to breathe or even move. His arms ached horribly. He had lost a lot of blood. Too much of it. So he stopped. But he was at peace. He would die giving people freedom. He would die an honest man with the only regret being that he never got married or had kids. But the pain was ebbing away, soon to be completely gone.

After the dust settled and the sky cleared, the remains of the battle became clear. The death count was sickening, but unfortunately normal. Both sides lost a lot of men on the field today, but they wouldn't be forgotten. They would make sure of that. The soldiers' medals and pins along with a framed and folded flag would be delivered to the families of the fallen soldiers, along with a letter of condolence. Every one of those letters were handwritten by the General of each soldier, who held back tears of agony and anguish for his fallen. 

When the items arrived at his mother's home, tears immediately spilled out of her eyes. Her son was dead. Every night she would cry herself to sleep, knowing she would never see him again. Every Memorial day, Veterans day, and on his birthday, they would visit his grave and put down a small flag with poppies.

This is why we have Memorial Day.