STILL

A Minute Hope

Gun shots fired in my directing, hitting the wall I barely hid behind. My comrades yelling for me to run, to retreat, but I wants listening. The tearful eyes of a little girl held me captive. She wept on her hand and knees in the middle of the village square. I could almost hear the words that came from her mouth. The plead for someone to save her, and who was I to object. This was my purpose.

I stood up from my squatting positing. Blocking out the sound of the gunfire and the yelling of my comrades, I charged. With bullets flew, but I felt none. My mind was focused on my mission. Protect a innocent girl from death.

Running toward her I grabbed her and swing her in front of me. Protecting her with my body. She would see the light of day. She looked at me from under my body. Her crying had stopped. I could hear my comrades killing the imposters, ending the gunshots, but I was focused on her eyes. She looked at me with love and compassion. Something I had never felt. She reached up her hand and set it on my dirty and sweat cheek, before reaching up to kiss me on the opposite cheek.

Never before had I felt so loved. Not even by my parents. That was the reward. The rewards for what I had done.

My comrades pulled my shoulders lifting me off her, before laying me on the ground. This was it. The end. My comrades yelled for me to stay awake, but what could they do. For I was bleeding to death.

The sight before me was the last thing I saw, before another gunshot shot through the air.

The thought and sound of gunfire woke me from my dream, making me hit my head on the concrete wall in which I had slept upon. Minutes passed of me having to remind my self that the war was gone before my breathing returned to normal.

No. It wasn't a dream, it was a memory. Ever since Vietnam, I could never sleep. The memories I stowed away kept coming back. Finding a way to haunt me once again.

That last gunshot. It was all a mistake. We had missed an invader. He had shot the girl. Her lifeless eyes are still burned into me memory. The day I failed. Not only do I have a mental reminder, but a physical one as well.

I woke up in the hospital a month later, having been in a coma. My back was littered with 5 gunshots. One of my legs took 3 bullets, damaging the nerves. Luckily none had hit my head. I was able to return home, but it wasn't really home.

I had no home. That's why I joined the military, and now that I was out. I had nowhere to go. No family, no home, no money. I managed to make it to New York City, where I now sit against the building of a coffee shop awaiting my death. Hiding in the shadows. Sometimes I will try to get money from people, but I hate to beg. I was once a strong man. Now all I real is pain and rage.

My stomach was growling, and I felt faint from the heat of the sun. A plate of any type of food and a drop of water would have been a great treat, but what I really wanted was a smile or a friendly greeting from one of the clean, normal people, but who would do that. Ever person who has ever walked by me looked at me in disgust and hate. As if I wasn't even human.

Is this I was repaid. I served my country for six years. I was in the Air Force flying F-14s protecting my country. Then I was in the Navy Seals protecting my country. And this is what I get. Lonely death in a alleyway.

Sometimes I wish they hadn't saved me. That I would have died for eight bullet wounds.

The sound of the cafe door opening worked me out of my thoughts. I looked up from my I trimmed hair to see a group of friends walking out with warm cups in their hands. What I would do for a coffee. I pulled the change I had out of my pocket. Not a chance. Three pennies won't buy me anything.

I looked back up at the coffee shop only to see a woman staring intently at me. She was beautiful. She had reddish, orange long hair that flowed to her shoulders. She had on a leather blouse with blue skinny jeans. Her stare at me reminded me of the female officers in the Navy.