SHORT STORY: Track 5 – Promises Broken

Track 5 – Promises Broken

I walk and the crunch of destruction sounds underneath my standard issued boots. I freeze. My duty is to ensure that no opposing force serves as a threat and I do not see how they could with what is left; but still I need to be certain. More shattered remnants of a city that once was and I can see mounds of clothed flesh piled everywhere almost as if a complete and utter disregard of human life tore through; which is not far from the truth, but still the fighting is justified on each end.

A dog scatters out in front of me and I jump, startled, and do something I sincerely wish I had not; inhaled a deep breath. The foul stench of rot fills my soul and I do my best to try to keep my meals of past from revisiting the world. I settle my nerves and take another step. What was that? A whimper? The dog? No, it is someone calling out.

I retreat up against what was once a wall and set my sights to scan. At first glance I see nothing, but as the sounds of agony grow more sorrowful, by eyes lock on the target. He is the remnants of a man, and from his attire I can safely assume that he was with the forces that no more than a day ago were trying so hard to put me and my party in the position he is in now.

I sneak in and ensure he is alone and unarmed. I cleared the area and while doing so the man used his strength to lift his head, look around, and make eye contact with me; I guess I was not as quiet as I had thought.

The man, in a muted and drained whisper, said something to me in his native tongue. Now this I must ashamedly admit is not something I am proud of; I did not understand a word of what he was trying to say. I travel across the world to invade someone’s home and extinguish their lives, while at the same time putting my life on the line to help others whom are suffering; you would think the least I could do is learn the language. You could think that, but you would be wrong because I never took the time, nor did I really have any desires to. I set my priorities in life, and hearing the profanities of the enemy being yelled at me, or hearing the thanks of the powerless did not make the top ten list.

I aim at him and he continues muttering, but it soon becomes clear to him in his pain addled state that I cannot understand him. “Please,” he changes his tone and attempts in my language.

I say nothing verbally but let my actions speak for me as I take a slow step closer with gun drawn and trained on his head.

“I know I am to die this day,” he coughs up which I can only assume is blood.

I agree with him internally.

“My home is near, and I have a son,” his bouts of coughing masked the rest of his message.

I cannot tell if he was pleading or bargaining, but my training warned me of desperate attempts made by those whose dim lights were set to fade out.

“He was born two months ago and I just want to see him,” a tear trickles down his blood crusted check, transforming the clear rivulet into a crimson creek.

“I am sorry,” was all I can think of to say, so that is what I went with.

“Please take me home,” he chokes out.

“I am sorry,” I say again, gun still aimed. What choice do I have?

“Why are we even fighting?” He wheezes and for a moment he has a point; what is this all about. Loyalty to ones country? Doing what is right? Who is to say either side is right? “I was forced into this. I had no choice. All I want is to know that my boy will grow with having seen me once.”

“You know I can’t,” I say, starting to feel the remorse that I was warned about. Why did I hesitate? What am I thinking?

“Please,” he asks again. “My home is not in hostile territory and I am alone here. You are in no danger. Please.”

Again I am speechless, but for a reason I cannot explain I kneel by his side. Perhaps deep down inside I know that we are not all that different and no one deserves to die alone.

He looks into my eyes from his dark brown wetted sockets. “I can tell you are kind and genuine.” He painstakingly swallows hard.

“I honestly wish there was something I could do, but you know that it can’t be done,” I say as I look at his tattered shell of a body.

“It is not far,” he says with hope written on his face.

Not far, I think to myself. A residential home with a newborn child is no far from a war zone; this is the world we live in, the world we made. “How far is not far?”

“Fifteen miles.”

My heart sinks for him. He truly is so close to home and yet in his current state and predicament he will never reach there and see his son. “I will take you, close your eyes.”

The man, the enemy, obeys and takes in a breath.

“Which direction are we heading?” I ask.

“North,” he reveals, his eyelids remaining filthy and shut.

“Over the single paved road?” I ask.

“Yes,” he breaths in slower and harder.

“The sun is hot, but the breeze is good,” I say. “It is nice country here. Where to now?”

“My village,” another corrupted cough that was growing worse. “It is the one with the tall building. The tallest for hundreds of miles,” he finishes with pride.

“I have flown over it, I know the one,” I say. “Which house is yours?”

“It is the one with many flowers, you cannot miss it. My wife loves them and we plant them at any chance. Even in droughts she can keep them alive, she is so loving,” he grits his teeth at the thought.

“They smell wonderful,” I say, feeling my own lump forming in my throat.

“See the ones on the window sill?” He asks.

“Yes,” I answer.

“A present I gave to her before I left so that whenever she looks out the window waiting for my return she is reminded of our love.”

“She is at the window now.”

“Is she holding anything?”

“She is holding your son, I say as I reach one hand down and place it on his shoulder. “She is smiling at him, and he smiling back. He has the same dark brown eyes as his father.”

“Thank you,” he says with his eyes still closed while a smile blessed his lips. He looks content, and after a sound that rattled my soul and echoes throughout the ravaged place, he was no more.