Roger That

Date: 10/9/2016

I was a soldier on a battlefield. My commander or general or whatever told me to get to the front line because the enemy was breaking through and the medical team needed some more supplies up there. I was terrified. I didn't want to die like that. I bit my lip and shrugged on a pack that held a few supplies for the nurses to use for the wounded. Gun in hand, I surveyed my surroundings as I left my troop behind. When I got to the front line, there were bombs and gun shots going off everywhere. My ears punded. I began handing supplies out to the nurses. When I got to one nurse, she was hunched over a man with a half bloodied face and bullet wound gushing from his thigh. His blond curls were weighed down by blood, sweat, and dirt; it was almost a paste like concoction. I fell to my knees and tears began falling from my eyes. It was just too horrific a sight. He was going to bleed out or get infection and then die. He weakly touched my leg with his arm, barely able to move amongst the pain, "I'm sorry." I began wailing, "No, you can't die! You just can't!" I bit my lip to try to quell the waterfall spilling from my eyes, "I don't know how I'll be able live with you gone." He choked out, "You have to. I know you c--" He died midsentence and my body fell over his lifeless one. My body racked with sobs and I kissed his forehead, blood coating my lips like a nice shade of rouge lipstick, "I'm sorry, I..." That's when I woke up.