Daisy Chains

• Amelia Goldberg, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2014

I’m looking up at the sky, the rain falling in slow motion toward me, tumbling over themselves, spinning end on end. The coolness against my skin as they shatter on impact, trailing wet lines across my skin.
The bullet had sliced through me like teeth through a strawberry. And the stuff I bled looked like strawberry jam as well. Huh, funny that.
I don’t think I remember how I got here, it hurts my head too much. Not physical pain, not like being shot, or bleeding out, but an emotional pain, far more painful than any bullet, sword or fist.
It’s raining. How funny. The rain will wash away the snow, or was it sand, the red, red colour of the ground that is so warm to lay in. It comforts me like a blanket, guarding me from the bad men, the evil men.
I remember the gun shots and the sound of bombs exploding next to me, ahead of me, all around. There is no escaping, not from Mr Orange, or was it Agent Orange. I can’t remember, but I know that he is very good at what he does. He never lets anyone escape, wherever he went, he left some sort of mark, hidden agenda imprinted in his victims minds.
I remember Daisy Chains and Peppermints falling to the ground, from my left to my right, I heard the screams. Oh the screams haunt me. They are my screams that fill the air, along with the smoke and ash of the burning countryside.
I wonder if anyone will find me, bleeding out onto the red carpet of the ground. Will anybody come looking for me like we did for all the other fallen brothers in arms? I hope they do, I don’t think I could survive for much longer out here on my own.
I remember the cries of young children, the terrified screams of mothers and fathers. Oh how they fled the fighting and the fire rain. How they ran for their lives as we fought on their front door steps.
Bodies fell like leaves from a tree, littering the ground like a farmer sowing seeds. Sons and fathers, brothers and husbands. All gone in the blink of an eye.
I remember signing up, just a faceless man in the crowd, eager to be part of something bigger, a smile on my face and a glint in my eye, or so a young man in front of me said.
“You look like you’re ready for an adventure my friend, maybe you’ve finally found one.”
He had such a nice voice, nice white teeth. I wonder if he’s alright, if he was able to get to safety, or, like me, he’s lying on the ground, waiting for the bad men to find him first. Or if he’s unlucky enough, Agent Orange might find him, us, first.
I see daisy chains and peppermints falling now, slowly turning over themselves, slicing through the rain and falling to the ground.