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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Fantasy · #1668718
Inspired by the Cranberries song Zombie
Still fresh from the pack is a new and green grunt heading out to the front, his mother and father still fresh on his mind; his daughter still sleeping back in his home that he’s fighting to defend from an unknown threat, it’s all in his head. The first few days go by so smooth he made a new best friend, the only one he’s had so far and his mother won’t leave his mind, the last time he saw her cry as he left for the front lines looking like a zombie to hide what he felt, to hide his regret to maybe not see that face again, he had to be strong for the one who raised him. His father disowned him, betrayed by his son who left him to fight for a country that betrayed him; it’s all in his head. With his gun he fires his first shot, he kills his first man, takes the first life and his mother is pushed from his mind. This isn’t who she raised, this monster or machine, the only thing he can claim to be is a zombie, sent out to do whatever he’s bid so he can go back home one day and make it through college so he can send his daughter one day, make her fly jets or maybe build planes. She loves the set so much he got her for Christmas it’s all she wants to do every time he sees her, whenever it may be again, it’s all in his head. Weeks go by and the cars begin to explode, his friend died in his arms with none of his own. His last words were a wish that he make it home alive, that he fight to survive, don’t worry about the country that sent you to die for a cause that was lost in these years, don’t fret for your father, or your mother you left in tears. Fight for the girl who suffers back west because his father’s not home, he’s busy dodging bombs so he can make her place safe, so he can make it a place worth calling home, and it’s all in his head. His best friend is gone and he’s now on his own, the fresh green grunt now covered in blood, he’s gone to the front and found fresh taste of what it’s like to kill in cold blood, to take a life without care, without passion or regret, just another stepping stone so he can finally go home. He got a letter that morning that his father passed away and his mother wants him home, and it’s the last place he can go, the last place he could bare to stand living with all he’s done, all the dying, all in his head, all the bombs and the tanks, the guns and the smoke, the blood in the sand and the sand turns to glass under flames in the dark, it’s all in his head. The final day on the front, he’s not going home. His daughter has no father and his mothers’ son is finally gone, he perished in a hole, like a dog in the sand he fought till the end. The girl may go to college or she may be scarred for life, the mother may never know of what became of her son but maybe it’s better this way, maybe it’s good he died for a country that forgot the name of the zombie, it was all in his head.
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