Dedicated to all those who lost their lives in war, especially the Civil war, the bloodiest war in US history, and for those who were left with nothing.
I am so afraid.
My chest, no, my who torso, it is numb. And that scares me. I must be terribly hurt to not feel anything. And when the pain comes…. What then? How loud will I scream? Will the nurses shout for a doctor… am I even under care? Will I die? I don't know; I am fading, and it is such a strange comfort suddenly.
And then I sleep.
I suppose I didn't die. If I did, never had I imagined death to be such agony. There are voices, but so far and so few, with large smooth vibrations of varying tones that I feel myself slipping back into the undefined rest.
And yet, here I am pulled closer by the shouts of those I know to be real, and most alive. So I am not dead. But not entirely living either.
I am weak. Am I so altered that I cannot even withstand pain enough to still go on into the battle physically or mentally? I hear the cries of the others. But I am glad they are not for me. They are for their country, a place most of us will only dream of, and hope that those whom we have left behind can someday inhabit this surreal world. I have no wife or children, but only a comforting wealth of siblings and friends at home who I pray shall get to see this dream land that I am dying for. Isn't that funny, how they say that "young men are dying for this country, for their cause," and yet…. We are not only dying. We dying in order to fight, and to give others a life we shall not have. But the price of war is blood. The more who believe that these battles have cause, the more blood is spilt. A lucky few shall come home to something more glorious than winning a war; they have that sweet reimbursement for their near-deaths in form of a life lived for people like me.
People who shall not see the sun rise on a country of free men. Men like me… Men like us.