You'd think that it would be the fairy-tale kind of death, the one that such a fairy-tale kind of woman got. That was not how she died. She did not die cradled in my arms, bleeding out slowly, bravely narrating a series of heartfelt words with her last ounce of energy. She did not die fighting, or painlessly, or even respectably for that matter. She hadn't gone out with dignity, and the only form of her I remember is the image of her suffering, sobbing, that remains etched upon my mind.
We had won. I felt the lead of anxiety lift from my chest, I had taken off my helmet. I fell backwards, onto the sand, laughing and probably crying a little bit too. Thirteen months. We had waited thirteen months to go home, and we had made it against all odds. We were alive and well, though a bit beaten up, but we could finally leave this hell-fire that was war.
And in a moment, the sound gunfire sped into my ears, in a deafening crescendo. All it took was one moment.
Time did not slow down, or speed up, or anything of the sort. Time is constant, and it tends to hold consistency even though I wish everyday that it would turn back. As she stood with her greasy hair and dirt-smudged face, bags under her eyes and a lopsided smile, I felt hope for the first time in years. Though the war was over, fighting ceased, and there was no reason for any fucking decent man or woman to fire the shot, the shot was still fired.
She crumpled nearly immediately, still laughing, mentally not even registering the shot until she had hit the ground wailing. The worst noise I have ever heard, and I had heard too many noises of that war, was the sound of her agonized wailing as she roll around in the sand. She knew she wasn't going back; she knew she was dying. That's the worst part, she knew.
The bullet had struck deep through her back and settled into her collapsing lung. I couldn't even hear her scream, she didn't even get any last words, as her entire breath had been stolen by the bullet in her chest. I dropped to the floor beside her, yelling that I loved her and that damnit fuck you how dare you die right now we were so close, and the gunfire faded until I could only hear myself and her breaths. She looked at me with pain in her eyes, and a look of moderate acceptance swam inside of them. And she lie there, convulsing, face contorted into a silent scream, she began to move more slowly and more smoothly. She stilled, eyes locked with mine, and reached for my hand.
I look it, and when she nodded to me, I shook my head. She gave one last wail, rolled over, blood pooling around her, painting the sand red. And then she died.
She died. That's it. End all, be all.
And there is no other way that I can present it.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
