I ran. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was to get away, away from the sounds that burst my eardrums, away from the mud, decorated with body parts like it was a cake made for Halloween, away from the smell of rotting flesh and smoke, away from this war.
I ran with a limp, almost falling over whenever there was a bump in the ground. My physical form displaying the memories from however many months ago, even though time felt like a day was a year and a year was a century. The feel of wind around my pale, shaven scalp felt good, freeing almost. This feeling was interrupted though, I heard one bag, two, three, screams, shouting, tears, pain, an everlasting nightmare. No, I can't focus on that now, I was getting out, going to be free.
I kept on running, but didn't seem to be getting anywhere, as the calling of my name didn't seem far behind me. I recognised one voice as my cousin, who had come to this hellhole with me a year and a half ago. We were close then, but not so much now. I didn't want to be close, to know him well, to treat him like a brother because nothing goes your way here. He would be around me like sprinkled confetti in a matter of seconds.
I saw them, the opposition, the enemies. Well, that's what we call them, because really, we're all the same. Prisoners being forced to fight each other. To kill, despite not having a bad bone in our bodies. We're seen as heroes, but what we're doing it in humane. Nobody should have to kill people for a living. Innocent people with families and a home, which they will never be able to go back to.
I was getting closer, I saw the gate in the distance, mocking and taunting me for my hope and desperation. I was metres away now, thirty seconds, but that didn't stop them. I heard a bang, and sharply turned my head as the grey, rounded bullet ripped through my leg. I fell. The pain was familiar, but not any better than the last time. Dragging myself, my fingernails digging into the dirty, crumbling ground, I got next to the gate. I pushed myself into my knees, reaching upwards like an animal wanted to get out out captivity, wanting to be free. I felt the heat from the sun beating down onto my outstretched hand, like freedom was in my possession. Like my fingertips were keys to the door of opportunity. It felt new and beautiful and BANG...
The thing is, I'm John Newbury, a soldier, and I will never get out.
