Better Days (Flash)

The only thought that entered his head was that of home. Vibrations ripped through his ribcage and mud rained down on his helmet, pattering into the dug-out shelter. Even so, all he thought of was home. The uniform that had once been enticing was now unrecognisable. His strained left hand clutched the snout of a rifle, his right holding up the base of the weapon at his waist. He wondered if there would be better days.

The usual myriad of barking orders, flying this way and that, was being suffocated. None of his companions dared look over the edge – instead they preferred to grit their teeth and grind their bodies into the dirt. Each and every one had something to fight for and they knew it – but now was not the time.

The sky above the man was brown with the flying mud, shades of grey revealing themselves at intervals. His boots were stuck in a puddle and his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. With each roaring explosion his discipline faltered more and more.

Finally, though, it stopped. Everything fell quiet, with only echoes fading into the bleak sky. The soldier exhaled and looked begrudgingly at the man to his left. No words were needed.

His mother. His father. His sister. Pictures of green, rolling hills and gentle breezes flashed before his wild eyes. He thought of the love he had left unsaid and the words he had left unrequited.

The palm of his hand suddenly grabbed for his chest, wrenching up a dirty whistle tied to his neck on a string. He gave the call and with it went all his memory. With that sharp, cutting sound he banished all thoughts of hope, return, comfort. He forced his every nerve to think of the task at hand. It wasn’t about redeeming himself at all.

Without making a sound, he flung his arm high, sinking his clawed hand into the ground above and pulled his rolling, living corpse into oblivion, all the while knowing to wish for better days.