THE END

The heavy door slammed behind them, lock collapsing shut. They were in a dead end; a small, dim lit room with single light bulb hanging from the cracked ceiling. The grey concrete that they were running on had disappeared, replaced by crumbling rock, as if in a cave. A few empty crates were flung around the desolate room. The three men desperately climbed around the room, searching for even the smallest crack to save their lives with. Empty-handed, the room grew grim. The Sniper fell on his knees and began to pray feverishly to the dying light. The Scout, shocked, slowly slid down the rough wall, staring into the distance. The Soldier merely sat down on a crate, placing his helmet beside him and fumbling a cigarette to his mouth.

Apart from the Sniper's quiet whisper, jumbled shouting could be heard from the other side of the door. Although no one could distinguish what they were saying, they all knew what they were up to. The metal door shuddered but remained firm. The Scout, still startled, looked carefully at the pitiful man and then at the somber veteran. A slow wisp of smoke drew out of the cigarette, disappearing in a frantic dance.

"I didn't bring my cigars, if that's what you are wondering," The Soldier gruffed, disturbing the rising smoke with an exhale, "This is the only thing I had."

"What do you reckon will happen to us?"

The Soldier turned to look at the defeated boy, who was gazing emptily at him, unsure of what to do or feel. What a sight it was - a young man, barely over the tender age of twenty, sitting and contemplating his fate already. Beside them, the Sniper's pleads escalated. Tears were now rolling down the scarred cheeks of the Sniper, who had his hands clenched together as he sobbed for mercy. The Soldier slowly and precisely unbuttoned his uniform, tossing it aside and sighing.

"The same thing that happens to the rest - we'll die, unnoticed by our cold Generals and uncared for by society."

They focused into each other's eyes, peering into each other's soul. The Scout sat up, digging his hands into the grit underneath him and clenching it. He didn't want to accept it, but deep down, he knew that he couldn't change reality. He slowly let the cold grit slip from his hands and mumbled:

"I... I don't want to die."

"No one ever does."

By this point, the Soldier's began to tear up. He took his cigarette, tossed it beside the helmet, and buried his tired face in his rough hands. The footsteps outside grew louder, as did the foreign shouting. The Sniper was weeping, but the light only flickered as the door shook.

"Scout, I've been always meaning to ask -" The Soldier began, his confident voice quivering, but hesitated. Pausing to regain his composure, he continued

"Have you ever imagined what life could be without war? Where we could be right now?"

The Scout didn't reply, but stared down at the grey grit. He wanted to be a baseball star - to have people cheering his name in large stadiums. He wanted to marry Miss Pauling - to throw a huge wedding and to impress the girl of his dreams. He wanted to have children who he could smile at - two boys which he would raise in his own image.

But he had none of those things. He realized he could be so much more, but war took it all away from him - stripping him of all his dreams and longings. He could've been everything, but he was nothing.

As the door began to give in with every consecutive hit, the two men gathered around the Sniper and sat beside him, huddling for the last time.

"This is the end, gentlemen. It was nice knowing all of you." The Soldier croaked, slumping over and putting his hands on his team.

"Cheers. The name is Rick Mundy. You?"

For the first time in years of this dirty work did the Sniper reveal his identity, which they all swore never to reveal, three grueling years ago. Those were happier times then.

"John Doe."

"Bill"

With one last sentimental glance at each other, they managed to smile, something they had almost forgotten to do, as the door gave in and the light finally went out.