So it was true. The nightmares came true. Perhaps it was that he was prophetic, or terribly afraid at the moment he heard the machine guns... But he knew. Somehow, he knew...
James Nicholls was charging across a broad field. All alone in the countryside. No one else... just him, and his horse. That was the way he liked it. He had always been more of a private fellow, contented to associate more with the demons within his mind, than without. He had enough demons within, anyways, than to have to deal with all of the world's problems as well.
The war. His commission. His friend, Captain-turned-Major Jamie Stewart.
Another thought came to him suddenly. He would have to report for duty in the morning. He hated that. To be pulled away from the beauty and the majesty of everything surrounding him, to watch it be destroyed from the inside out from his perch far away overseas.
He reined in his horse at the crest of a hill, and let the wind blow across his face a moment. This was the way to live. No cares. No concerns. The thoughts of the gathering storm of war seemed so very far away as he surveyed the English countryside. A single tear slid down his cheek. Would it be there when he returned? Would it be ruined?
Perhaps that wasn't the correct question. Would he be ruined? Would the wonder and beauty be drowned out... stifled... suffocated. By the horrors of what was to come? Perhaps that was what he hated about it. Even if England survived what was foretold to be the Great War... the War to end all wars... things wouldn't be the same. Things would never be the same. Soldiers could come home... but they would never be the same as they were before. The innocence would depart. Memories would always haunt them. Sights, sounds, smells... everything would change...
And yet, in a different, terrible way, things would stay the same. This war would not end wars. Far from it. It was simply human nature. When men discover new ways to kill, and to continue killing, there is always an excuse to do so. To continue the war. The killing.
James shook his head. Negative thoughts always haunted him. Thoughts of the past, and the future. Many called him beyond his years. Other, more eccentric types would claim that he had some magical power. Still others had postulated that he was prophetic.
He didn't believe that it was any of that. Someone had simply bestowed upon him a blessed curse. Discernment. Introspection. Knowledge. Wisdom. They were the qualities that defined him.
That didn't mean, however, that they were always helpful.
James spurred his horse down the other side of the hill, which was somewhat steeper than the way he had come. The wind gusted against his face, and ran careless fingers through his curly hair.
More thoughts sprang into his mind. His hair would have to be cut before he reported for duty. The horse would have to be returned to its actual owner... He would have to make sure that his suit was clean...His suit. That cursed thing, olive drab, tried to conform him to itself. Its image. Its meaning.
But not now. For now, he would enjoy his last day of freedom.
James lifted his face to the sky, and let out a massive laugh. He gave a devil-may-care shake of his head, and let the wind carry his thoughts to happier places.
James Nicholls's mind was his great strength, and his great weakness. His mind allowed him to make decisions, and the speed at which he did would save lives, he was told.
But the other part of his mind, the human part... That was what he used more often. The part that resented the war, and hated the conflict. The part that didn't allow Albert to join the military. The part that promised to bring Joey back.
That was also the part that responded the most negatively to the dreams. It was by no means rational to believe in dreams.
There was death everywhere... death and destruction... his friends... his colleagues... his countrymen... death and destruction... coming from the forest ahead. In a flash, he would see an image... a machine gun. With a CRACK, he would see the blue sky above him, and...
The nightmare would be over.
It was possibly the most terrifying nightmare that had ever graced his mind. But it did not stop. He continued to have such dreams. Sometimes he would see Charlie, giving him a fearful glance. Other times he would see Jamie, looking on in horror at the spectacle. But he continued to have the night terrors.
That was when he began to draw Joey, to send back to Albert. It eased his mind, and allayed his worry. Somewhat.
Then they shipped out. Things changed. He worried more. The dreams became even more vivid. His promise loomed over him like a storm cloud...
They attacked the German encampment. The Germans had fled into the forest. The fire of machine guns was heard...And James remembered his dreams. His visions.
A sudden fear came over him.
He saw the image of the machine gun, in the far distance...
Perhaps it was merely the price of war. The reason why memories haunt soldiers. The death that haunts men's dreams for years to come, and why everything changes, and still remains the same.
Another thought occurred to him.
Perhaps life... perhaps THIS is the true nightmare. The real one. The dream that would come in a flash, and be over in an instant. What happens after the end is what really matters.
He heard a volley of machine gun fire.
His head tipped upward to the beauty of the golden sun shining in the sky.
And somehow he knew.
The nightmare...
Was over.