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UNSUNG HEROES

I charge the battlefield as, one by one, my comrades fall beside me. I'm in the moment, as that saying goes. It's too fast to see, but I feel a bullet whiz past my face and disappear into the space behind me. Another flies past, closer. I count my lucky stars I've been able to survive this long. I carry on, fully aware of the fear that resides within me and around me. Someone has to do it. I knew I would see combat when I signed up. It was part of the package.

Something flies into my shoulder hard. Its impact is felt immediately as I scream in pain. A flood of thoughts pour into my mind. I try to block them out as I raise my gun and fire into the trees. I'm slowing down. Not a good sign. I slowly regain my posture and resume my progress into hell. More bullets fly past me laying claim to more of my fellow companions. Some scream; others fall silently. I carry on.

Another impact. I feel the small, hot metal slice through me before I see the blood. It comes gushing out of my chest staining the fabric of my combat gear. I don't scream this time. I simply stop and fall to my knees in shock, disbelief. Did I really think I could last this long?

Once more. This one embeds itself in my torso. I clumsily drop my weapon. Now, it's just survival. I place one hand each on my wounds. My left hand clutches my chest, and my right hand finds its way to my midsection. The blood still flows freely over my fingers. I fall to my side. I don't know whether I'm laughing or crying.

Those thoughts again.

Random images of a childhood life from an eternity ago. Swings, lemonade, bicycles. A random assortment of nostalgia. It all comes and goes, spinning past like a carousel. I'm at home pretending to be sick so that I won't have to go to school. I'm up all night drinking with my buddies, laughing and enjoying being a teenager. All randomness, really.

The images slow down after a while, gradually focusing on things I recall as fairly recent. The timepiece that is my mind stops briefly, or for an eternity, I'm not sure which. The image displayed brings tears to my eyes. It's her.

My best friend.

She also has exclusive rights to my heart.

Rewind.

Where am I?

I'm there, standing in her kitchen. Oh, how beautiful she looked. She didn't dress up for me that day, but why would she? She was comfortable enough being herself around me. Still, she looked graceful. Her dark shade of blond hung down slightly past her shoulders, parted at one side and held up with a bobby pin. I remember the

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