The War That Never Ends

The War Never Ends

Rain washed over Riley like a baptism, cleansing his every sin up until this point. Every droplet that touched his face stung with the bitter coldness of war. Riley gazed out over the sloping expanse, stones protruding from the ground like the jagged teeth of some sort of grotesque, monstrous beast. His cold, emotionless eyes locked onto the nearest stone, and as he read the engraving on it, he felt a raindrop slide down his cheek. "Here lies Bradley Davis, August 2nd, 1922- October 4th, 1943 " it read. "Bravest son of a bitch I ever knew," finished Riley.

As Riley choked back tears, Richard "Captain" Meyers sauntered over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was an average soldier in rank, just like most of them, but those that knew him had a special kind of respect for him. "How're ya holdin' up?" he asked gingerly, trying to be as comforting as possible. "Fine I suppose," replied Riley. His voice shook with all of the emotion that his eyes lacked. "I'm just glad it's all over now, ya know? I can finally sleep at night without worrying about some goddamned Jerry murdering me in my sleep." "True, but you'll still have to worry about the major." Richard made an attempt at some light humor to brighten the mood, but Riley still had that distant, cold look in his eyes. "Sorry Richie, but I'm not staying." he said quietly but sternly. "What do you mean Riley?" "I mean that I'm leaving the squad. I'm leaving the family. I don't want to serve anymore. I can't serve anymore." Tears began to well up in Riley's eyes once again, and this time he couldn't hold them back.

"The bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" Richard stood, mouth hanging open in disbelief. "I mean that I can't fight anymore! I can't live day after day knowing that I ended the life of another!" "They're pigs, all of them! The damned Nazis deserve their punishment." interjected Richard. "How can you care about beasts that commit horrible acts of genocide?" "Because...because maybe they're not all like that. Have you ever thought that the poor soldiers live in fear of their tyrant ruler and are just trying to survive in that merciless country?" "It's still wrong," Richard said. "It's still wrong. They kill innocent people Riley-" "We kill innocent people, Richard! All those bombs we drop, the crops we burn, the cities we destroy! Are you going to sit there and tell me that we are any better than they are?" "But we are! We are better. Right? We went to war because they invaded Belgium and threatened innocent nations. They're the enemy!" Riley could see the gears turning in Richard's mind and the shattering of the concept of what was morally right or wrong twist his face in confused frustration.

Riley turned on his heels and left Richard's side. "I'm sorry it has to be like this, but I'm just not capable of fighting anymore. I can't fight if I don't know what I'm fighting for. Tell the others I said good bye." Riley slowly faded into the distance, becoming just a colorless speck in the midst of a vast grey world. Richard remained in place, a statue against the restless flow of time; the rain pounding against his tattered soul, every drop a tangible depiction of the tears he couldn't form.

---

Several months later, Riley was sat in the uncomfortable booth in the back corner of the local cafe and soda shop, away from all of the other patrons, and was gazing out the window. Leaving the military, though better on Riley's conscience, had rendered him a social outcast. He didn't care though. The dirty looks and hushed voices didn't bother him. If there was an elephant in the room, it wasn't the shame of abandoning his fellow men in arms; it was the immense, undying guilt that weighed down him. The guilt forged from tearing families apart and taking the lives of the innocent through acts of unspeakable brutality all for the sake of a war that he was never meant to fight.

The waitress approached Riley, her curls bouncing on her shoulders and her hips swaying with every step. "What can I get you?" The contempt in her voice stung like the bitter taste of "battery acid" in the cold mornings out in the middle of Europe during the days when Riley was part of the family. But he had severed those ties, and the contempt was not directed towards him, but rather at her own job. Dealing with the common dribble that walked through those cafe doors every morning would drive any sane person to malice-filled words and an underlying attitude that would turn summer lemonade sour.