I picked up my rifle, and pointlessly aimed it at where the shots came from, only to notice a dense curtain of forest, smoke and dirt. As I saw the people I sat down and ate dinner with for months, die beside me I asked myself, "What am I doing here, how did this happen". What was *really* the point of all this bloodshed, of this gruesome chapter of human history? We were sent to die, without actually knowing what death meant. The expressions of my lost comrades, covered in blood, forever still, frozen by the actions of mankind's worst enemy. We were facing an impossible task, a fearless, inviscible opponent, whose weaknesses were as hidden as the purpose of this whole affair. We were warned about the vietcong, but even the strongest of us looked like a scared child looking for his parents. These thoughts were interrupted by the whizzing sound of bullets flying over my head. A loud voice shouted, "Retreat, Angel of Death airstrike inbound in 30 minutes". We walked into this forest as a group of around a hundred, but as we ran back i only managed to count a couple dozen men. While running through the woods, evading bullets, ambushes, traps, mines and trees, I couldn't help but notice Carter, my best friend. He was lying on the ground, gurgling up blood and trying to mutter some words while stretching me his hand. I couldn't make out what he said, but he handed me an heirloom. A golden chain, as shiny as the bullets which pierced his pale white skin. As he drowned with his own blood, i heard the word "Diane", his wife's name. I knew I couldn't stay for long, or I would just be another meaningless decimal on the chart of MIAs or KIAs. As we ran through the bloody forest, we heard the Angel of Death's propellers far away. We cheered as we heard the bombs dropping, but we weren't celebrating victory, we were just celebrating not being one of the unlucky ones whose life ended in the pull of a trigger. We set up camp, and took turns to watch the base at night. My turn was just past midnight, and I was supposed to sleep earlier, but I couldn't. Why do we have to be enemies? Why do I have to pretend to hate these people that I don't even know, with families and loved ones? I am not the one drawing the plans or ordering the strikes, I'm just doing the dirty work for those sitting in their fancy desks and have nothing to lose. We are merely pawns of a huge empire, built upon the blood of inocent people. These thoughts kept drilling my head, like a pounding ache that couldn't be ignored. The suspense was driving me mad, my mind was paranoid of my own shadow, cast by the dim moonlight. Mysteries have a way of making us go insane, not knowing what's there kept me wondering all night long. I had no way of knowing what was behind the few meters that the light allowed me to see. There was no other way for someone like me, no "office job" or "second option" I could have. The bright full moon fell west, letting me know that my turn was over, and Smith's turn began. I managed to sleep for a little bit over 4 hours, until around 6 in the morning. I woke up dazed and slightly lost, but this didn't stop me from noticing the beauty of the dawn. The sound of a plane's propeller filled the morning sky, this time it was spraying "agent orange", with the purpose of killing the forest and making the battlefield even. The rest of my platoon quickly woke up too, and were trying to light a fire for breakfast. The humid forest was unforgiving in many ways, and the lack of flammable fuel for fire was one of them. Out of nowhere, the leaves moved, and many vietnamese sprinted at us, shouting a warcry that sounded like cursed gibberish for us americans. We thought we could hold our ground, after all, we were at what we thought was an advantageous position. They proved us otherwise, without breaking a sweat they were only a couple yards from us, sending us on the run again. It was clear they knew the forest well, they were right at home. We frantically ran backwards. They caught us off guard, and killed many more of us. I chose to ignore the screams of agony from the rest of my platoon and kept running, after all, it was my only hope. I managed to escape into the forest, but this time there was no one else with me. I was blinded by adrenaline, deafened by my friend's dying screams and lost in a green maze with death at every wrong turn. Then, while running I tripped in a vietcong booby trap. I held in the need to scream of pain, and assesed the situation. Under what seemed like normal leaves, was a hole and a plank with nails, made to break in half under a persons weight. I was hip deep the whole, and my right leg was crushed between two planks with rusty nails. It finally dawned upon me that I was going to die. It was all over. 166Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCpXgh25zQs
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In the hole, I kept thinking about my childhood. I was born May 27 1936, and just like every other family during the great depression, we were dirt poor. We moved a lot when I was little, but most of my childhood was spent in Chicago. I was named Samuel Larson, but the last thing I wanted was to be like my father, who is also Samuel Larson, so everyone just calls me Larson. He was a drunk degenerate, often coming home after a couple hours of putting his liver to great use, and beating mom in front of me. She was an Angel disguised as a human. When she looked at me, she was the only one who didn't see all the bad things, only the good ones. I felt safe in her hugs, but also angry at myself for being such a bad kid. She didn't deserve any of this, not me, her spoiled child, or Samuel, her drunk, abussive husband. Oh how I miss her, she was named Clara, and my memories of her are some of my most bittersweet moments. She did her best to raise me well, but that didn't stop me from doing everything a child shouldn't do. I was doing nicely at school first, but after I reached my teens school was the last thing on my mind. On top of all that, mom died a horrible death. I wonder what could've happened if I had just focused on school, on doing something good for my mom, and not use her death as an excuse for all the horrible things I did growing up. Where I come from, it's easy to end up with the wrong kind of life, and so I did. I spent two years in juvie, after having killed my father. He had already threatened to kill me a couple times, and blamed me for mom's death. I'd never given it any thought, thinking it was just drunk nonsense. Until the day he actually tried. He entered my room, and aimed his revolver straight at me. I was stuck in that instant for an eternity. His blooshot eyes hovered around me, his scrawny beard and dirty look made him seem like a homeless person. I saw down the gun's barrel, and reacted on instict. My mind entered a state of self defense, not thinking logically. I pounced toward him, and the gun went off while we wrestled on the floor, and hit my left arm, leaving a scar to forever remind me of that horrible day. I slid the gun away, and kept punching him with my right fist until his face was unrecognizable. I was fueled by rage and anger because of my mom's death, and I took it out on his now disfigured face. After I realized what I had done, I wasn't sure what to think. I was scared of myself. I was scared because I didn't feel anything. I was looking at the puddle of blood with an empty stare, and felt nothing. No remorse, no regret, no guilt, only emptiness. I heard the sirens outside, but everything was just a blur, it felt like a dream, a nightmare about to come to its end. I was taken away, and put in juvie, this was July 16th, and I remember it crystal clear. My life got reduced to a tiny concrete cage, with steel bars that mocked me every day. I did learn my lesson though, and after getting out I tried to do better, for mom. I had no family, most of my friends were dead or in jail and had no where to stay. I was homeless for some time, I had no purpose, no reason to live. I thought joining the military would give me a purpose to fulfill. I did it impulsively, without thinking it through. In the mess of the Vietnam war, they accepted me, despite my criminal history. I didn't want to give my self the chance to go to my past life again. I still wouldn't change anything, well...166Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkeJ4tg1fs5
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I do regret not being there more for my mother.166Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡThI8sLOyJi
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My attention was drawn back to the present. At first I heard them, the leaves and branches crunching under a silhouette from afar. I hoped it was someone from my platoon and laid low. I saw their slim vietnamese eyes and bayonettes and knew my end was near. I tightly gripped carters heirloom in my right fist, and was hoping to be blessed with a quick death. They approached me and whispered between them, I just kept saying "I'll see you soon mom" under my breath. I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head, and it all went dark. I woke up god knows how much time later, squished in a bamboo cage. I couldn't move and much less stand up in the cage. I didn't know it yet, but what I was about to go through was a punishment way worse than death. I was in a POW camp, and could see the back of some other cages. It smelled like corpses, and there was a hanging tree with with some caged skeletons holding signs. I wondered if they were american, or maybe vietcong defectors, that were caught and hanged by their own people. I tried speaking to the person in the cage in front of me, but he ignored me. My low whispers turned to indiscreet calls for his attention. After a while, he responded with a "SHHH" he seemed angry too. I didn't understand why he didn't want to talk so I spoke louder and louder. Until the vietcong heard me, and walked up to my cage. There were 8 of them, but I heard many more in the diatance, maybe fifty or sixty men. Four of them carried handguns, the other three carried long rifles, with bayonettes that were starting to turn red because of the blood. I saw my own reflection in one of the bayonettes, I was still covered in dirt, and seemed skinnier than before. My eyebags were so big and dark that they made me look like a malnourished racoon. One of the men didn't have a weapon, only a couple knife holsters. He was very tall, had a raspy voice and was always smoking. I also noticed on of the handgun men had a utility belt, with survival tools, water, firestarter and grenades. They took me out of my cage and put on my shackles. They tied me to the hanging tree and whipped me 30 times. I breathed deep before every whip, and tried not to scream. I had never wanted to die so much, but I was still alive. Each whip was filled with a sick, joyful chuckle coming from the vietnamese. They were enjoying my suffering. Ater the man with the cigar finished whipping me, they put me back in my cage, this time they took all my clothes but my boxers, and they left the shackles on. I took Carter's heirloom out of the pant's pocket and tied it around my right wrist. I tried to talk to the person in front of me again, but this time, in morse code. I introduced my self tapping the bamboos with my knuckles. I was already about to give up, until i heard some taps. "●●●● ●●, -- -●-- -●●- -- ● ●● ●●● ●- -● -●● ●-● ● ●● -- ● ●-● ●● -● ---" Hi, my name is Andrei Merino said the encoded message. We kept talking back and forth with subtle taps for quite some time. He told me he was an Italian immigrant from NY, and his platoon deployed a couple years ago. He had been in that cage for at least 2 years now. He was leading a platoon, that had just taken over a nearby town. The vietnamese flushed most of them out of the buildings with explosives, and killed the remaining ones outside. He, along with some others were taken to the POW camp. War had turned him into a broken man, it had stripped him of purpose and put him in a tiny bamboo coffin. We were simply bairganing tools for the vietcong in case something went wrong. The sun spun the globe, and the moon started peeking over the tree filled horizon. The peacefulness of the night was my only relief during that whole day, no gunfire, no vietnamese chatter, only the wind pushing the leaves back and forth. The moonlight filtered through the tree's canopy and gently lit my new "home". The next day, Andrei and I talked all day, he explained that the man with the cigar seemed to be in charge, and the hanging corpses from the tree were vietcong defectors, hanged to show the dishonor in trying to escape war. They had a pretty solid structure, where each member had an important role to fulfill and each depended on each other. He also pointed out that some of the men with handguns were more reckless, and even let a POW escape once. Some weeks later, the POW was found and hung along with the guard that allowed him to escape. Another day went by without anything to eat. Any critters or animal that crossed my cage would become dinner for that day. Wether it be a worm, or a tiny bird, it would be like a five star meal for my starving stomach. Many days passed, with only the sunrise and sunset to tell the difference between the days. I counted 5 moons before my first meal, some leftovers handed to me by the man with the cigar. He seemed to enjoy watching us suffer, and laughed histerically while pretending to throw the food to the ground. They fed us every couple days with their leftovers. Many more days passed, life and death was no different anymore, I knew by this point that death was a mercy they wouldn't grant me. I felt the devil's claw gripping my soul and ripping it appart. The sight of my ribs moving softly back and forth with each weak breath became normal. My ribs looked like they were wanting to burst out my chest, and the weight of my own body became too much for my legs to carry. My extremities were starting to look like chopsticks attached to my lifeless body. 166Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4HLDL2y88F
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Some months in, or perhaps years, i started thinking of ways to kill my self. How would it be the least painfull, I asked my self. Maybe starving to death, but that would be too slow and painful. Maybe doing something dumb, like start screaming or banging my cage so that they hung me. I decided on that option, and was about to do it, when Andrei told me that he had already tried, and was whipped and punched, but left alive. They couldn't lose their plan B in case they had to bargain. Now that we were on the subject, I asked him why and how hadn't he already done it. He told me that the wish to kill them was too much to end it that soon, he was ready to stay as long as it took to see them suffer. He convinced me to not take the coward's way out, but rather think of a smarter solution. I kept thinking, but nothing made sense. There was no "thinking" while you're in that situation. There is no such thing as a train of thought or logic when you're in that state. It's a constant cry for help from the mind. 166Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbKH2SrAcnf
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Some days passed, and this time, it was one of the handgun men bringing me the food. He leaned down to give me the plate. I felt seventeen again, acting on instinct and not logic. I remembered my mom's last words. The leukemia was already too advanced, and the doctors had sent her to spend her last moments home. On her death-bed, her last words to me were "Larson, know that we don't die when we draw our last breath, when our heart takes it's last beat or when we leave this miserable Earth, we die when our name is last spoken, so as long as you remember me, I'll live". My heart may have been beating, and I was still breathing, but I wasn't alive. I realized that I was going to die either way, and I had no say over that. But I still had say over what I was going to do with my last beat, my last breath. I wasn't really going to die, I would still live through those who remembered me, like Andrei. I grabbed the man with the handgun by the neck and pulled him towards my cage. His head banged the bamboo, and I managed to grab a knife from his utility belt. I stabbed him in the throat and again, felt no remorse. The streak of warm, bright red blood ran down my arm while I quickly cut the bamboo before the noises alerted anyone. I took two grenades from his utility belt and ran towards where the vietnamese talk came from. Each step left a bloody footprint behind. I ran past the hanging tree, past the dense forest and into a small village with around a hundred people. What was I running towards? Maybe a second life, maybe heaven or hell, or who knows, maybe nothing at all. Either way it didn't matter, I was determined, I had a mission and there was no stopping me now. I burst open the doors and saw the man with the cigar. I ran towards him, and heard panicked screams and shots. I pulled the pins of both grenades and released the handles. Both pins and handles were falling in what seemed like slow-motion, the clinging noise they made when they fell to the tiled floor echoed in my ears, and sounded even louder than the bullets I was being shot. I looked at my chest and saw fresh blood, I had been shot, but I still felt nothing. I just kept running at him, no second thoughts or concrete plan, just instinct. The men grabbed their bayonettes and shot me while running. My knees gave out, I fell with both fists closed on the floor. I tilted my head back, and looked at him straight in the eyes, he dropped his cigar, but didn't even try to reach for a weapon. His eyes filled with fear, while mine lit up in a fire, caused by rage and vengeance.166Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4gvmW5i2gm
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My actions had drawn a surprised and scared look on his face that made me feel a joy I had never felt before. For the first time since all the years I saw him, I was the one doing the smiling. I had been dead since the moment I was locked in that cage, and it was time to give him a taste of it. I held Carter's heirloom tied around my right wrist. Without breaking my menacing stare, under my breath I whispered "I'll see you soon mom"166Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiN7Zmj87iq
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My sinister and euphoric smile signaled my success. I raised both my fists and showed the grenades.
Penana
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