The idea for this was inspired by another story by Anonymous Killjoy, who was very nice enough to let me use the idea. Also, some ideas were inspired by the movie Dear John.
He lay there. On the hard and rocky ground. It was blurry. The world was blurry. Though he could see a figure in front of him. He looked like he was saying something to him, screaming to him actually, but the only sound in the young soldier's ears was a constant buzzing. He knew what had just happened to him, but the pain seemed to be to fade as his mind began to do the same. He knew what was happening. He knew he would rather be feeling the pain, because then, at least you know you're alive, but when that pain is gone, you know that you will be too. He had never been shot before, but that's what he signed up for, he expected it to happen eventually, he just didn't think it'd be so hard. Leaving everything behind. His family, his friends, and his love. They all started to appear in his head, the good times with them, the bad times. He wanted to be with them right now, especially her. But he knew he would never be able to see them again, he at least wished he could've ended off with them on better terms.
He felt his body move, though his mind seemed to just ignore the movement. The soldier in front of him was moving him. He still saw him screaming, and saw the constant gunshots in the background.
Why did he join this war? Maybe to finally make a name for himself, maybe to finally have people stop treating him like dirt, he didn't know. He didn't know why he joined, but he did know why he kept moving forward. He knew why he didn't give up a long time ago.
Her.
He didn't end off on good terms with her either, but he would always love her.
The two small bullet wounds in his body felt cold, he felt the wind move through them as the world started to become black. He didn't think it would be this way. He thought he would be screaming in pain, clutching his wounds. But that wasn't the case. It was a lot quieter and less painful. Some could say they liked it better that way. But he didn't.
At least when you're in pain, you're only thinking of that pain. But when you're lying here, knowing death will soon take you any second, you are forced to think of the people and things you love. You are forced to think about how you got in this situation and how you could've avoided it. Forced to think of what your life could've been. How your life could've been with her.
He would take pain over this any day.
And the very last thing that went through his mind, seconds before everything went black, was what he expected it to be.
Her.
It all began the night he came home.
December 31st, 1979