A Memoir of a Warrior

You can’t take what’s already gone. That’s what my old man used to say. That saying was drilled into my brain ever since I was a child. I was already nothing, what would a little war be? Like a prick on my finger. What a shame it was. To be taught to want to die for something so simple. Death was an honor they said. If you were to die in battle you would be remembered far more than if you were to live. To tell the tale like so many before you.

I remember a vague imagine of her. A white dress blowing in the wind at the docks. Wearing barely anything on a cold day like that. Just so she could see me off to work. A job I may never come back from. Her smile was simple yet…full of sorrow. Why didn’t you weep for me? Did you want to stand strong beside me, one last time?

My job was simple, point and shoot.
Point and shoot.
Point and shoot.
Point and shoot.

After the first few shots I was mortified. But soon after, after following in the footsteps of my brothers and sisters, I learned. I had wiped away any morals. I did what I was told, like an obedient child to his old man. Through hard days at the mill, his aching screams, and bloodied fists.

He was the best I got.
Now…I’m not so sure.

He who told me lies, he who insisted I moved into the ranks. Higher on the food chain, above the lows and even the highs. No one could look down on me once I served my county. Look down on us.
He who had a bad leg from his days. He who imagined me as his better self. So long Father, that’s not how it’s going to be this time. Maybe in the next life.

And to you, the one reading this. I may not look like much, but I sure as hell told you the truth of war, of
life,
death,
cheats,
lies.

My sails have lowered, and the motor is busted. Mending can only do so much.

The sun is so pretty, I think I’ll just lay here. Miss in white, I’ll be home soon.