Walking Alone

• Bailey Green, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2015

The memories will never leave me.
The nightmares will never fade away.
The screams still echo in my mind…
The captain was yelling at the six of us to get out of the trench.
You ran out first, I remember that. Followed by the boy, younger than I, with the scar across his nose. The other four were strangers. It was your bravery that gave them all the courage to follow your lead – except for me. I was still stuck in the trench just watching in fear as you heroically fought for our country. I can remember our last exchanged glance.
I saw your every teardrop fall to the smoke-blanketed ground, disappearing with all the lives, husbands and brothers that it had swallowed as you held the breath of many men in your hands. With eruptions and screams running through my ears, I stepped out of the trench and secured my helmet around my chin before crossing the barrier between worlds. From the hidden ditch, I scrambled into a new realm full of regrets, lust and vengeance, where guns were the only source of redemption. Lifting my gaze, I spun in search of where I could find you. Rapidly searching, trying to block out the echoing gunshots and destruction from my mind, I staggered and fell when something ran under my legs. I hit the ground, landing on a firm and almost warm obstacle that now lay underneath by body. I didn’t dare to look back, I didn’t want to know what had been in my way – but curiosity overcame my fear. I turned my head. My face fell pale at the sight that rested beneath me. With eyes open wide, full of shock but yet empty of life - the boy, younger than I with the scar across his nose lay still – motionless, lying in his own blood that soaked into the dust.
I couldn’t believe what I had seen. My breath had escaped me, I was gasping at the point that I could barely breathe. I thought nothing but to run – retreat from this place of containment and grief.
But then my salvation found me. Your warm hand clutching my shoulder – lifting me up from the stolen lives that now only existed within the ashes. I didn’t risk looking at you; I didn’t want you to see me like this. A coward.
“I promised mum I’d be walking you through the front gates after this war,” your croaking voice muttered in a whisper against my ear, “and that’s what I’m going to do…”
Then I heard the gunshot.
I walked through those front gates, my brother – I did it for you. But to my regret, I was walking alone.