Gallipoli

• Celeste Haji-Ali, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2014

It was a night like any other. The reflection of the stars glistened steadily over the water as the ships sailed slowly into Gallipoli. I had no idea you were out there, no idea you were watching.
All I could see in the distance was rows of hills facing me. I felt so small and irrelevant compared to them. We drifted in the water just waiting for the call, the call that could soon mean the end of the road for some of us. I was nervous. My hands were shaking and I could feel a bead of sweat roll down the back of my neck.
And then it all happened so fast. The first call. And then the next. I was getting ready to charge. I heard a blur of gun shots around me everywhere. Then I stepped in the water and suddenly everything felt so real. I gripped my gun in my hand and ran. I ran into unknown territory. The thundering sounds of bullets flying through the air destroyed the silence and echoed off the mountains. And then I saw it. A clearing. Quickly and carefully, I made my way over the barbed wire and dead bodies lying in the sand. Little did I know that you were there.
I thought I was safe, that no one could see me. I saw you then. Your eyes, dark and evil. The slight grin on your face, unforgiving. I stopped then, wishing I was invisible.
I heard it before I felt it. On the edge of my right rib, I was hit. I fell to the floor in agony, and you kicked me. My eyes were pleading. I could feel the warm blood pouring out of my side. I let out a shrill scream.
You turned back at me. I thought you were going to put me out of my misery. But of course you wouldn’t be that kind, you couldn’t be. You spat on my face and then disappeared into the darkness again, where you’d come from. You went for your next victim.
Bright white light filled my vision as I lay on my back in the dirt. Was this the purgatory I was told about in church when I was younger? Was this is it, was I dead?
I woke on something softer than the hard floor. Slowly, I opened my eyes. There was a woman standing over me. I thought that she must have been an angel. Her beautiful dirty-blonde hair, smoothed into a tight bun at the back of her head. I could see that she was concentrating on something from the slight crease on her forehead. As my eyes properly focussed, I could see that, in fact she wasn’t an angel – she was a nurse. She was fixing my bandages. Her face was radiant, glowing. I wanted to touch her face, thank her. But I couldn’t, I was far too weak.
I recovered quickly. Within just three months I was ready to come home. I knew that she was my sign from God to push on.
Eventually I married her. But I thank you. I thank you for not using that second bullet on me. I thank you for letting me suffer, because without you, I never would have met her, my life would have ended meaningless. You gave me purpose.