A Shot

The night was hot, stifling, as we trudged through the humid forest. The sliver of moonlight that cut through the thick blackness made fools of my eyes, weaving monsters out of the surrounding trees, pulling shadow-demons up from every corner. A trickle of sweat escaped from under my helmet, tracing a path through the grime on my face. Supporting the heavy gun with my other hand, I wiped the drop away from my brow and focused on our journey. All I could see ahead of me were more evil trees and my comrade’s back, clad in the same US uniform as myself, a large sweat stain forming between his shoulder blades. I straightened my back, and we marched on into the night.

            Dawn was not far off as we approached the village, peeks of sunlight beginning to dance around the edges of the darkness. We had to move fast. Hiding amongst the trees just outside the array of houses, I could see the stirrings of life beginning among the inhabitants. Mothers and children, left alone by the husbands and sons fighting for them, ventured out into the road, baskets of vegetables ready to be sold at their sides. It all looked so normal, so much like home. I heard the hushed whisper spread throughout our legion, and readied myself. The leader called out, “Onward,” and we slowly crept from the foliage.

            They did not notice us at first, engaged as they were in their proceedings. We sneaked up behind them like shadows in the night, the clicking of guns against bullets the only sound. One villager, a child, turned around at that moment and noticed our creeping advance. His eyes widened, and his mouth formed an O. A shot rang out. I looked at my comrade, his gun still smoking. His face was a mask of concentration, and impassiveness. The child’s was still surprised, a trail of blood now running around the squinted, glassy eyes. The entire commons were frozen, as if someone had stilled time. A beat later, the calm broke, and hysteria began. Mothers grabbed for their children, trying to escape from us, but they were not fast enough. Like machines, we fired and reloaded, fired and reloaded, killing everything in sight. A few of us broke off, lighting fires at the homes. The flames leapt up hungrily, quickly devouring the thatched houses. Screams rang through the smoky air, along with the blasts of our guns.

            Suddenly, all was quiet, but for the roar of the ever-consuming fire. Our leader nodded at us, and we broke apart to loot what we could. I slowly stepped over the bodies littering the dirt road, nearly tripping over one set. I looked down. It was a mother, wrapped protectively around her small child, her face forever frozen in an expression of unrelenting love and fear. Her skin was singed from the flames and soot had settled in her raven hair like snow. Her body was riddled with bullet wounds, the river of blood seeping out into the road. Her face was pale behind the filth. In contrast, the child had but one wound. It was straight in the heart, a clean through-and-through. None of this got to me, but his face. His face was one that would haunt my dreams forever. Small and innocent, but full of terror. His eyes, wide and glassy stared, unseeing, at the smoke-filled sky. The horrors he had witnessed too soon remained etched across his face, along with bleeding cuts from the shrapnel. He was the same age as my own son, four at the oldest. I looked away as my eyes began to fill with tears, struggling to contain myself.

            Back at the base, my comrades were resulting over the “success” of our endeavor, and the quality of what they had stolen. I had once partaken in these trivialities as well, but now they sickened me. I sat on my bunk, staring at nothing, seeing only the face of that child in my mind’s eye. It followed me everywhere. I couldn’t think, sleep, eat, without his lifeless eyes staring into my soul. I feared I was going insane. Even my wife and kid back home wouldn’t want me like this, damaged goods. I couldn’t go on. I gripped my gun, the shiny metal cold in my damp hand. It had been with me through everything; it was fitting that it should be here now. With trembling fingers, I lifted the weapon to my mouth, caressing the barrel with my lips as if kissing a lover. My eyes closed, and a single tear escaped. I wrapped my finger around the trigger and said a silent prayer, then tightened my grip.

            A shot rang out.