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Rated: E · Poetry · War · #2321538
A long day in June 1944.
A Day in June

A man, a boy, dies next to me.
In an instant he became silent.
A hole in his helmet was the final testament to his life.

A whistling of bullets and another drops to the sand.
A scream, another scream, but I must run onward.
Be brave, be quick, run, run, run to the cliff.

Explosion after explosion. I made it.
I look back at the sea. Bodies bob up and down in the water.
Dozens of bodies in the sand lie unmoving.

Small rivers of red flow away from my friends. The water has turned a faint red.
More crash to the sand. Some at my side, others nearly make it, but do not.
The sounds of explosions drown out the screams of the wounded.

I must be brave.
I must help my friends, my brothers.
I will move onward.

I shoot and shoot again.
Men I do not know, die.
I saved many of my brothers today.

It's over. The battle quiets.
I hear only the sounds of machines.
I sit and fumble weakly for some water.

I drink quickly and deeply.
I draw in a deep fresh breath.
In the distance I can hear a pop and I sleep.

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