A Dead Man Tells Of Courage

• Jaymie Nohejl-Willis, Grade 11, Western Heights Secondary College - Minerva Campus
• Short Story
• 2017

Finalist in the 'Spread The Word 2017' competition

To keep my mind astray from the task ahead, I thought back to before the war. Of times that almost seemed like dreams, which held within my memory a coat of corrosive unrealism about them. The person I was unbeknownst to me. His actions and mannerisms strange and uncharacteristically baffling. A man almost exploding with courage and daring; of hope unhinged, towards his war drafting. A mind full of propaganda, and an image implanted in himself that he would return a chiselled war hero, applauded by all for his courageous efforts. I chuckled in saddened dismay at myself, the immature innocence of before had long been wormed out of body and soul.
I stand, ankle deep in mud, atop a heightened bump of land mass. Overlooking an area ripped away by bullets, explosives and the destructive power of man. Only a few hours ago, this land rang with the melody of death; an immeasurable shrill of screaming and shouts; of bullets dancing throughout the air and explosives causing the land to be lit with sudden flashes of devastating light. It was then where two forces of men locked horns like stubborn beasts, yet with the power and skill to cause carnage and death throughout the tireless squabble.
I exhaled out crispy white vapour which swirled throughout the early morning sky, the sun tentatively lifting from behind forested mountains afar. Its warm luminescent glow trickling throughout the trees and casting an orange outline on the terrain and against my figure. The sun’s affectionate warmth unnaturally welcome as it encompassed my body in its beautiful glow. My vision blurred now from the sunrise’s blinding colours and the tears which welled up upon my eyes. The sun’s light giving me a long lost sense of hope, and a feeling of safety. A conclusion of a night full of torment and pain.
I trotted down the mud-drenched slope, towards the still body of a soldier, one that I was tasked with retrieving. I reached around his bloodied neck and collected up his metallic dog tag. Cut along one side, the initials B.C were clearly visible. They were the initials of a stupid yet courageous man, now being held by a cowardly and defeated one.
Uncontrollably, I heaved towards the ground, the already pungent scent of death emanating from the corpse, causing my stomach to hurl up yesterday’s rations. The soldier’s lifeless cloudy eyes and blood speckled flesh a common sight, yet one which would always tear at the mind.
I gave myself a good second to regain my composure before calling to my squadron beyond the hills. My voice hoarse and shrill, used to screaming over the sound of battle; used to being part of the deathly choir. A shout which cut through the serenity of the melancholic scene.
I gripped his dog tag firmly. Here lies the soul of a dead man. One, who in his courageous stupidity died for nothing, albeit a medal sent to his parents and a life half fulfilled.