Last Salute

• Lachlan Fu, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2015

The grey acidic smoke clouds my vision and burns my lungs. A shrill ringing in my left ear. A warm, sticky liquid drips down the right side of my face. I summon my right hand up to wipe away the liquid, but it does not respond, however, a deathly cold sting run up my arm instead. I try to scream, but all that did was send a gale of smoke down my throat and into my lungs. I hack up black drops of blood on my filth covered uniform. Figures in the smoke move past me, cutting through the smoke like wraiths. Allies or foes I cannot tell. The dense smoke hides their colours as well as it hides me. I try to call for help, but my body only responds with a fit coughing and hacking. The dull thuds of bombings far away begin to drum the sides of my head. The M-H4 bombing planes are unloading their bombs ever closer. The shadow of spirals of smoke in the horizon air marks the ground of which the bombs have stricken, and it was heading my way. Gunshots ring in the air, phantom bullets cut through the fog of war. Blood curdling screams echo through the chocking smoke. I lay down in the cold, heavy mud, unable to escape its grip. The mud trembles with each drop of the bomb, its echo of destruction even penetrating the thick and frozen mud. Ever louder and clearer. Thick sticky liquid drips into the mud, creating a puddle of sticky, red, thick mud on which my head lies. The shrill war cry of the bomber planes arrive as the heavens open up and a metallic object falls from the skies and strikes the earth. The muddy earth flees from the thunderous blast; rocks jumping out of the way. The air itself shakes with fear, bodies thrown into the air without effort. Screams erupt all around me, a chorus of death. A blinding wall of light approaches my fallen body. Scorching the earth as it passes, vanquishing the smoke away, devouring anything it passes. As the light absorbs me, I do my last salute.