So, I only have use of a laptop right now.
And I really want to write fics, so that's why I'm doing oneshots.
Sorry, I just updated my multiple chapter one, so no worries.
Anyways, we find out how Max ends up in the hospital
He heard the shot resonating in the silent air. Ducking low, he again started his list of prayers. Prayer #1: No one was hit. This remained in effect until the lieutenant shouted "Man down!"
That call did indeed come. Prayer #2: It wasn't one of his friends. The Vietnamese Army was sending more and more troops into their area by the day, getting more viscous and more deadly each time they attacked.
Of course, who could really tell who was on whose side anymore? By now, all soldiers, women, children, everyone was covered in ash, mud, and blood. Everyone wore the same uniform to anyone fighting.
Max lifted his head for just a second, heart pounding, wanting to know who it was. He couldn't tell, so he came up just a bit more, still only letting his helmet be the only thing visible.
Through the tall, weedy grass he could see two soldiers crouched, trying to tend whoever was shot down. He squinted, and could make out the distinctive scarlet hair of his buddy, Red.
"Red!" he hissed, trying to get the attention of the two soldiers. But his voice remained unheard.
Another shot rang out. And then another. Soon, the pops from machine guns and the roar of bombs filled the once quiet air.
"Stay down!" cried the lieutenant. Max immediately dropped to his stomach, pressing his cheek against the cold, wet mud. Now, he could distinctly see his friend through the grass, covered with blood, and had been left by the two soldiers.
"Fall back!" the lieutenant called again. "Fall back!"
The bombs continued to shriek, and sky erupted into a brilliant red and yellow, smoke and flame clouding the air. They were being ambushed.
Max got to his feet, turned to run, but stopped. Red had been the reason he wasn't in an asylum. He knew no one would stop for him now.
Max's head screamed at him, begging him to just run. Watching his squad pass him by, he gave a little sigh, disregarded his screaming head, and ran back for Red.
"Carrigan!! What the hell are you doing?!" shouted one of the soldiers above the noise. Max ignored him; there was no stopping him now.
When he came to his friend, he collapsed beside him. He ripped off Red's jacket and shirt, looking desperately for a wound. He found it in his lower abdomen, gaping and pulsing gallons of blood by the second. There was no hope for him now. Nevertheless, he clutched his friend in his arms, and attempted to get up.
Bullets whizzed by. The enemy was right on their heels. Max frantically looked for his gun, lost somewhere in the thick, swampy grasslands. Eventually he found it, to which he grabbed it, and started to fire.
He tried to aim where the bullets were coming from, shooting carefully and accurately. The downpour of ammunition did not cease. He fired rapidly, each shot getting more and more desperate. Just stop he thought please, just make it stop.
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. Max lost any sanity he had left, firing without stopping and in every direction. He could no longer breathe the thick air around him, nor feel the wet mud below him, nor hear the screams, the moans, the shrieks from the bombs. He could only feel the smooth exterior of gun in his hands and the warm trigger which rested too comfortably between his fingers.
"DIE! DIE!" he cried, squeezing his eyes shut and tears streaming down his face.
For the first time in his life, he was alone. No one could save him. Not Lucy…not Jude…not Sadie…nobody…except himself.
Suddenly, the pops stopped. The bombs stopped falling and an eerie silence fell over the field. Max slowly opened his eyes, gulping the poisoned air. He stood up and cautiously glanced around him. The field seemed deserted. Smoke was still hindering visibility, but he saw no advancing hordes of soldiers.
He carefully took a step forward, but stopped in his tracks when he heard the cocking of a gun. He grasped his own, and pointed in the direction where he heard the noise, ready to fire at any second.
The thick smoke cleared. A Vietnamese boy, no older than the age of 10, stood with a gun shaking in his young hands. A young, teenage girl laid in a pool of blood at his feet.
Max's heart stopped. He didn't want to shoot the boy, but his mind kept repeating what the lieutenant had told all of them multiple times.
"The enemy is the enemy," he had grumbled.
He narrowed his eyes with concentration, and pressed a finger against the trigger. But just as he was about to shoot, his hand started to quiver. He tried many times to regain his composure and just do it, but no matter how hard he tried, it refused to stop.
He couldn't do it. His hand went limp, and his gun fell to ground.
There was no way out. It didn't matter who was right and who was wrong anymore. Everyone died. Everyone suffered. Everyone had to lose something.
This was hell. It had driven him out of his mind. And, to his rueful surprise, there was indeed one way out.
Max sank to his knees and looked directly at the young boy, who seemed to be struggling with his own emotions.
"Shoot me," he whispered, voice trembling. He closed his eyes, for what he thought was the last time.
At last, the shot broke the silence. The lead hit him with incredible force, causing an excruciating throbbing in his head as he fell to the ground, his world starting to spin. Despite the pain, Max sighed with relief, thinking that finally, finally, he was going to get out of here. For good.
Mm…I like the normal Max so much more than the angsting one.
But it had to be done.
Didn't turn out exactly how I wanted it to be, but I think it's still okay.
Please review!