Agonía

She didn’t understand. A terrible wave of agony washed over her, and complete horror filled her fragile bones. After everything that had happened, all of the promises of the future, it had ended. Never again would she be able to see eyes filled with a deep longing love, or had it even been love? A fresh wave of pain gripped her heart, refusing to release. Tears of shock and betrayal shook her very core; sobs tore through her, forcing trembling legs to the cold, hardened floor. She knew God loved her, and that he does have a plan for her, but why did this have to be his plan? The one thing she loved in the world, more than anything before, had been ripped from her grasp, without the slightest warning. Unknowing how she could handle this grievous pain any longer, she cried for the Lord her God, to take away the hurt that ravaged her broken body. All seemed lost, what purpose did life have now? How could she ever move past this? Desperately, she begged for Jesus to give her a heart of understanding, patience, love, forgiveness, and to not allow her the heart of bitterness. Food had lost its taste, and sleep escaped her. Brokenness was a constant ache she carried with her, and she couldn’t find the joy in life. The one so dear to her had moved on, faster than one could think possible, and it hurt. The love that was whispered of so tenderly must not have had been true. Her heart she had surrendered, she gave her everything, and now it was left, trampled in the dust. Loneliness consumed her. She never lost her faith in God, she trusted him completely, but in times such as this she just couldn’t understand. Jesus was her shoulder to lean on, and she wanted nothing more than to live her life out for him. But at the same time, that part of her life that was now missing, and she was constantly reminded of it. How could she go on?

The Soldier

Standing still in the middle of the chaos of D-day, was a boy. His glazed-over eyes tried to focus on something, anything, but there were no colours. Everything was grey, grey, grey, no wait, his eyes caught something red. What was it? The water, the water was red; why was it red? A bullet whizzed past the boy’s face, and suddenly everything flooded his senses. Gunfire exploded in his ears, the sound of soldiers being punched full of holes, sand everywhere, mixing with blood that was gathering in pools. A man with his legs blown to shreds, was shaking, and crying, ‘Mama!’ His olive drab uniform was littered with pieces of burnt flesh. It was too much. Keeling over, the boy vomited, and collapsed on the blood tinted sand.

His mind was back in Kellington, Idaho. Playing down at the creek with his older brothers, the sand between his toes. Tightly gripping the old rough rope, and letting go to splash into the crisp, cool water. There were no cares, no cares in the world. The water caressed his body, pushing back his hair from his forehead. That was all before the war-before the town changed, before his family changed, before his life changed. He wanted to stay submerged in the flood, but reality was pulling him back.

He spat out the sand and sour vomit still in his mouth. Pulling himself up, he wondered why he was here. What was the point? One soul blowing up another, for what? Glory? Honor? There was none of that in this murderous graveyard, only despair and death. He wanted so badly to go back to those peaceful days. If he could only run, and go back to that time. But rapid machine-gun fire reminded him that he couldn’t go anywhere. “Private!” was someone calling him? “Private! Get your a$$ outta there!” He looked and saw his troop leader beckoning from behind a rock. The boy ran towards him and dove to the shelter, where several others were huddled. The leader glanced around at the group, “Here’s the plan men we’ll move out…” The boy didn’t want to do this. Yes, it might be disobeying his officer, bringing dishonor to his country, but he couldn’t go on fighting this war that made him sick. He just wanted things to go back to how they used to be.

Going back to those days he remembered when he and his brothers finally saved enough pennies to buy model airplanes. The feel of the sanded wood, smelling the fresh white paint. His brothers were always trying to get rid of him, telling him that he would ruin the plane, but he loved spending time with them anyways. And after a long afternoon of playing cowboys and Indians, Mother would give them a cool glass of water, and bread with Crisco-it was cheaper than butter. At bedtime he would climb into the bed all three of them shared, and Mother would give them all a good-night kiss.

It was peaceful, so different than what was going on here. But then, there maybe, possibly, was a bigger picture than what was going on here. Bigger than the dying and the suffering right here, right now. Maybe the real reason why they were fighting. Maybe the real reason was not for glory or honor, but for peace. So that other families could live on to experience peace, and joy, like his had been given the chance to. It was hard to imagine that peace could come out of a mess like this, but maybe, this was the only way. And if this was the only way to wash out the evil, well then he had no choice. Reluctantly, the soldier picked up his gun. He glanced down at the streams of blood draining into the ocean, and followed after his officer.