Gunshot.

Screaming.

Her screaming.

Her agony.

A soldier's success.

An empty rifle.

And my bare head on the wood of the railroad.

The sound ricocheting, dispersed amongst the hills.

The colors staining the skies, threatening to holler their secrets.

And all is silent.

The palms blow in the breeze of the jungle skies.

And I am alone.

And she is dead.

This is not war.

This is not the army.

This is 'Nam.

I jolt awake, startled by my dream, bringing back memories, much too vivid. Much too true. My sweat soaked palms grasp the metal bar on the seat in front of me. And that is when I see her. She sits in front of me, facing me.

God, that face.

Those eyes.

That hair.

With a book collapsed in her lap, her eyes wander from it's pages kissed with printed words. I think she sees me. I want her to see me. The pain in my eyes, I hope she witnesses it's existence.

God, she looks just like her.

Just like her...

My breath begins to falter and as the sounds of the rattling train drown out, the firing of rifles violently replace it. Against my internal pleads, my head rolls back against the train's window. My eye lids close against my commands and I fall back into dream of memories.

I am Private Curtis and this is how I failed to stop the kidnap, torture, and murder of an innocent Vietnamese woman.