What was wrong with me? I raise a hand in front of my face but see nothing. I wave my hand back and forth; nothing Nothing.
I flail out with my hands searching for something anything.
My probing fingers came in contact with the soft grass. I roll until I am laying on my stomach and bury my face in the yielding soil; tears begin to spill from my unseeing eyes. I grip the tall grass in both fists until it seems I could pull it from their very roots. I push further into the soil, sobs ripping from my throat.
"Shane," a voice calls. "Shane, wake up."
I moan and turn over. "Leave me alone."
I peer through one eye to see a blurry figure standing over me. I sit up with a jolt. I lift a hand to my face; I can see it clearly.
A boot meets my ribs good-humoredly. Come on, we have to go.
I stand slowly. "Whats going on?"
"Dont you remember?" The man laughs. "Today's the day were going to the front line."
The front line. But weren't we sent there yesterday?
Explosions sound from every direction. I bury my head in the mound before me and hope that it would just go away. My mind is too alert for any such hope.
Someone shakes my shoulder. I glance up, were moving again. I push myself up from the dirt and follow close behind, my weapon a reassuring weight in my grasp.
That noise, what was it? It seems to be getting closer
An explosion lights up the darkness just in front of me. A pure white flare that blocks out any edge of blackness that the night brought. I could see silhouettes in front of me, flying through the air, almost gracefully. My surroundings become fuzzy and I lose all of the detail that should be there. Trees are no longer in view, the man that was just standing next to me, the earth below my feet. All gone.
I lift my arms to block my face, instinctively, but it's too late.
I open my eyes slowly, wary of sunlight that wouldnt come. I lie in the tall grasses my face pressed into their comforting silence. My throat is raw from the tears I'd cried. My muscles are stiff.
My other senses started coming into sharp focus. I could smell cooking meat, like all of the barbeques that the family had over the years. Roasting pork. My mouth began to water thinking about the chance of food that has alludes my the last few days. It had been days since any real good touches my lips.
My stomach rolled as the realization hit me. That was not pork I was smelling. A moan tumbled from my trembling jaw. I was drooling over my friends, my comrades, the people that I risked my life for. I barely made it into my side before bile erupted from my throat. I choked and gagged as the last of my stomach contents emptied onto the grass beside me.
I missed as the movement brought stunning clarity to the pain in my hip. I was caught off guard by the sudden rush of agony that spread through my right side. I must have been hit, was all that I could think. I felt the area carefully, there was no blood, but the simplest touch brought such pain that dizziness threatened to bring me into unconsciousness. I had broken my hip. I must have.
I am going to die here. I cannot walk or even hope to find my way through the rough terrain without my eyesight. No one would come back to this area after so many lay dead.
I roll over as gently as I could and glance blindly at what I believe to be the sky. The sun warned my skin as I lay in silence.
War is hell.
