Wake Me Up

• Alissa Mai, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2018

There was a thunderous boom and fizzle as a bright red flare exploded in the sky, everything around me painted in the haunting colour. The blinding signal struck anxiety into my hammering heart. Gunshots fired; their constant cracks like a jack hammer, the sounds deafening.
“Move! Move! Move!” a gravelly voice barked from a distance.
I scrambled from my hiding spot, my nails scratching the soft dirt. The usually heavy burden of my pack and AK-47 were non-existent, causing my eyebrows to furrow in a deep frown. I lurched forward, taking advantage of having no weight on my back. I broke out into full speed, my arms and legs pumping. Several more gunshots fired, the speeding shards of steel whizzing past my ears.
I dodged the bullets, zig zagging my way through the towering grass of the battlefield. Soldiers’ yells and screams plagued my mind and a man was firing out harsh orders in an alien language. They were not far behind.
What I heard next stops me cold.
My best comrade cried out in agony as he tumbled into the dry itchy grass. I whipped around, not hesitating to go back for him. Pushing the itchy plant aside in search of my best mate, I followed the distressing calls. Samson huddled in the dirt clutching his knee. Dark blood had already coated his hands and soaked his trousers, more and more seeping out from the wound at a never-ending flow. His tormented yells made me wince.
“I’m down, brother, I’m dead! Get out of here! Go!” he commanded, shoving me away.
“NO! I’m not leaving you behind!” I argued, determined. I looped his arm over my shoulder, struggling to lift him. I shoved his pack off, and held him across my shoulders. Samson shook me and protested – his voice seemed somewhat feminine, still I staggered on.
A foreign bellow sounded as yet another round of gun shots rained down behind us; two striking my hip and shin. I stumbled, the fiery shots burning my skin. I grasped my wounds, the pain feeling too real.
I opened my eyes to an unknown soldier in front of me, their assault rifle cocked in my direction. I scrambled backwards, my back hitting an invisible wall.
“NO!” I screamed.
“…arred…!” A woman’s voice cried, fading in and out, “…arred…!”
“Jarred! It’s me… It’s just a nightmare… come back to me baby…” she whimpered.
I felt warm shaking hands palm my stubbled cheeks. Eyes focusing properly, I snapped out of it. I locked onto teary blue eyes, her face crumpled in deep concern, fear. My chest heaved up and down.
On the floor of the kitchen, the freezing tiles bit through my plaid pyjama bottoms. I glanced around at misplaced furniture and glass flower vases smashed in puddles of water. I gripped my hair. The pills didn’t work. My recurring nightmare constantly reminds me of my horrifying reality I can’t wake up from.
Of Samson.
Every single night. I can never change the past.