Before
His Time
By Samantha Nelson
This has to be a joke.
The uniforms, the shining medals, the semi-serious expressions of everyone
around me. This is pretentiousness at its finest. And I am stuck in the middle
of it.
Mother had been begging
me for years to join the army. The rebellion against our country is not to be
tolerated, she insists. I am expected to take up a mantle that my brother
forsook, what with him joining the rebels. But I deny her, again and again. I
will not die for my country. Father has long been buried. My brother came home
as dossier labeled MIA. Even I understood that he was gone, no matter what the
government said. I had become the last man in the house. Mother had to rely on
me. I keep the farm running, assist her in daily tasks, and handle her
finances. With my leaving, our home would be in shambles. But there was no
escaping the draft. A cold ball of fear
slides its way into my stomach, uncannily like a bullet.
“Andrew Jacobssen!”
I step forward. The drill sergeant is suddenly in my
face, spitting his orders at me.
“You’ll be training under Sergeant Bones. Am I
understood!” More an order than a question.
“Sir, yes, sir!” I yell. The words are hollow in my
mouth. He glares at me.
“You talk back to me, and I’ll have you training until
midnight! Am I understood!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” I shouted back, the volume of my
voice increasing. Louder apparently means better, because he went on to yell at
the next unfortunate soul in line. I step back, noticing the mocking eyes and
half-smiles of everyone else. My fist almost clenches, but I release the
tension in a breath. Let them think they are above me. This war is not a boy’s
game.
Nine weeks pass. I am
pushed both physically and mentally. But not emotionally. My soul is already in
the grave with my brother. But others have not my pain. They believe it is an
honor to be here. They train day and night. Their days are filled with honor
and glory. Mine are consumed by questions. Why did he forsake his family to
join a pointless cause? Was he passionate in his fight ‘till the end? When can
I join him where he stands?
Sergeant Bones is aptly
named; the skin over his cheeks stretches uncomfortably tight. His eyes are as
heartless as his personality. When I see him, I gaze at Death. I almost welcome
it. My brother is closer to me if I am closer to him.
The time passes almost
too slowly. Almost before I can comprehend it, I am on the front lines. Bullets
fly out around me. The air is rent with the screams of the dying, the paths of
the bullets, and the screaming of orders. I crawl to the trench, inch by inch.
I choke on mud, eyes watering. Shrapnel pings my helmet – I continue. Bodies
lie around me, thick red liquid staining their perfect uniforms. Something akin
to sorrow pierces my heart. They were once so eager to die. Now that they are gone,
the joy has faded from their eyes. Do they like what they have found?
As I
pass yet another fallen soldier, a bullet hits my back. Pain tears my world
apart, leaving red streaks in my grey life. Am I screaming? Am I moving at all?
There is nothing but agony. But somewhere, a distant memory reminds me of where
I am going. My brother. He waits for me. A rebel no more, we are brothers
again. Another bullet to the back. My universe becomes an infinite span of
misery. Life leaches out of me in the form of sticky redness. Another bullet.
More blood. A boot crosses my field of vision; the figure crouches down. With a
final, excruciating effort, I gaze at my killer.
Something is wrong. He is
gone. Dead. But no – as my vision dims, I do not mistake the horror he wears.
My beloved brother, missing no longer. I have not the time to enjoy it.
