A Snippet

The Price

 Year 2024

“Make it stop!” 

Bombs. They were bombs. My arms were wrapped around my head and tears trickled down my cheeks. “Please, just make it stop.” 

I barely managed to open my eyes, the world blurry and tremblin’. Hands slid under my armpits, trying to hoist me to my feet. I whimpered, letting them help me. 

“This isn’t Vietnam, Dad. I’m takin’ you home.”

This isn’t Vietnam. I tried to recite that, but every instinct screamed that it was.

Year 1944

The ground under my feet wavered and the screams that were already ripping through the ship's hull were deafening. I’d be lucky to even make it to land.

The door opened and the gunshots were instantaneous. I wanted to stay rooted in my place, but I didn’t. My feet began to move and within seconds I splashed down in Normandy, finger resting beside the trigger of my gun. 

Screams. So many screams. Men dropped like flies on my every side but if I stopped moving I’d die. More than once I scrambled over their bodies, watching the water turn red. 

My feet slammed onto the shore at the same moment a bullet slammed into my calf. 

I could barely hear the scream that tore from my lips over the chaos. 

Don’t stop, or you’ll die.

Swallowing hard against the pain, I leveled my gun at the nearest Nazi I could spot. 

And I fired. 

Year 1918

Blood dribbled down my jacket, and my hand moved to cover the wound mindlessly. The trench was dark, and beside me was a corpse. I’d known him. We’d been friends. One heartbeat and he was gone. It wouldn’t be long before I joined him. 

“Stay with me, soldier!” 

My eyes could barely focus, but through the fog I could make out a figure, and then searing pain as a bandage was pressed to my stomach.  

“My mom is gonna give me a talkin’ to about this,” I slurred, trying to laugh, but blood pooled into my mouth.

One heartbeat, more blood. Darkness inched into my vision and in a moment everything went black. 

Year 1775

The day before had been silent, calm even. It was a million miles from that now.  

“Bloody red coats.” My voice sounded so hoarse. It was hard to believe it was mine with a million bullets whistling past my head. 

Rivers of blood dribbled down my finger and onto my fallen brothers. Hundreds of lives lost, but even then, from my place behind a tree, rifle in hand and finger twitching against the trigger, I could see the flag. 

Blood red stripes unwavering in the night. 

March 23, 1775

“Give me liberty, or give me death!” 

-Patrick Henry 

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