Each painful breath

He wakes from another hellish memory. His chest heaves with stolen oxygen and each intake burns with the memory. Hot tears track his face and every gasp is agonising because each one belongs to another.

He remembers the boy he grew up with, running from him laughing merrily his warm brown curls bouncing softly with each footfall.

The day they played a trick on their teacher and got the worst punishment he had ever received but it didn't matter because the teachers pants and chair would forever be stained with ink and the mischievous glint in lively brown eyes.

The boy who rode with him into the forest on their days off, who rode with him till the last. The boy who mounted with his left foot in the stirrup.

The boy he signed up with, who's signature was done with a flourish of the right ink stained hand. The boy he shared a drink with the day before riding out Irish beer anything else he said was worthless. The boy who he charged with by his side.

He goes outside, unable to endure any more memories of his best friend. The sun rays lightly kiss his boyish freckles, now interrupted by the scar across his left cheek, the follow through of that fateful swing. He never looks at it any more, he knows his bright eyes have dulled to muddy grey as the life has been taken in return for the breath.

The men call him noble and his breath hitches in his throat he remembers the people he killed without a thought and how their friends are just like him.

They call him manly and it's all he can do to hold back tears as he remembers the shared, shaky, crooked, smile, pretending they weren't scared even though they both knew they were as they waited for orders. The people applaud and all he can hear is the storm of metal that struck down his comrades as they left the fallen bodies behind.

It was not the ordinary kind of storm an angry violent kind of storm the kind that whip the waves into a wicked frenzy. Waves that carry whomever dare sail on them as they dash themselves to pieces on foreign rocky shores. The kind of storm with clouds darker then night only to be lit with the evil, gleeful flicks of tongues of lightning as the streak across the sky. When the wailfully moaned warnings of the wind are drowned out by the sloshing of the water above and the merciless waves below. The kind of storm few survive.

The voices in his head tell him it's his fault.

The worst is when the girls who swooned over their uniforms and badges as the boys puffed out their chests at each other, call him selfless and he goes back...

... they where surrounded, the flashing of swords, bayonets and bullets was overwhelming.

His friend sees it coming.

He does not.

His friend spirs his horse as the blade swings.

Crack.

And the sting on his face. The blade has gone through his friends chest and he falls into his arms gasping for the oxygen he foolishly gave away...

They call him worthy and all he can think is how badly he wants to break the promise he made "live. Get out of this. I love you. My friend." And after those words eyes go blank. The breath is given and reluctantly receved.

The people call him brave and all he can think is how he left his best friends corpse behind so he could get himself out. They call him loyal and he remembers turning back to see those warm brown curls are trodden into the once brown dirt now red mud by the fleeing horses. Those crooked teeth being broken to pieces under those powerful hoves and those brown eyes staring lifelessly at the sky. 

He is prased as a hero but he knows he's a monster who stole the breath from his best friend.

He wishes he could make the blade hit its true target.

All he wants is eternal dreamless sleep but he wont let his friend die in vein. He falls asleep, intoxicated and wrecked. He dreams of the hell he knows and the boy he grew up with.

He feels the guilt with each stolen breath.

and he breaths on.

Each painful breath.

I finally got the marks back for this.  I edited it a bit more but same concept.
I got 13/15 or 86% which is kind of disappointing but oh well.