Title: Blood We've Drawn
Author: Tober Joy, formerly known as Rilie Joy
Rating: M, for language and some gore but mostly just to be safe. XD
Disclaimer: I do not own Platoon or Chris Taylor. Not making any money off this, it's just for fun. I used about a line and a half verbatim from the movie at the end in italics, everything else came out of my own head.
Author's Note: Before you read this, PLEASE note that it was written in about 15 minutes right after I'd seen the movie, and pretty much only because I needed to get it out. I hope for the best, but I don't guarantee great quality. XD
No matter what you think, reviews are AMAZING and extremely helpful, not to mention uplifting. I laugh in the face of flames. Enjoy!
Blood We've Drawn
1968, and Vietnam was nothing like what I thought it would be. Hell, what did I expect? Redemption? A way to make up for being the spoiled rich kid all my life? Maybe just something honest, something right, something worth fighting for. And then I realized nobody even knew what we were fighting for anymore. Elias said it was different in '65.
Most of us grunts were just kids when we went over, kids with stupid idealistic dreams like me or kids who had no other options left, nothing to lose. You step off the chopper, the first things you see are body bags and that's the first time you start to think whoa, man, this might be the biggest mistake of your goddamn life – might be your last mistake. After that you can't think beyond trying to stay alive and trying not to let it bother you too much when your buddies are getting cut down in front of you, their blood on your skin. Watch enough baby-faced G.I.'s get their legs blown off it can get to you – watch them be shit-talking one minute then screaming for their mothers the next, trying to put themselves back together. That's what 'Nam was, that's what it always will be to us, just this utter fucking chaos where nothing made sense. It was Hell all right, a real goddamn hell, more death and destruction than we ever could have imagined.
Somehow some of us made it out anyways, some of us lived, if you could call it that – and what the fuck were we supposed to do back stateside? Go on like it was nothing, get some factory job and try to live the daily grind without remembering the things we did, how many people we killed and how many friends we saw die? Bullshit. Nobody really makes it outta 'Nam. I'll always be there – the rest of my days.
Lovely fucking war. Bravo 6, actual and out.
End.