I Wanna Go Home

• Kahlia Mills, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2020

Banjo stood at the bow of the ship, he took a deep breath of crisp dawn air and sighed. His stomach fluttered as they cruised through the mist. Banjo felt Marty tap his shoulder, “You gonna have my back out there, right?” Marty asked. The ton of bricks weighing down Banjo’s shoulders vanished at his friend’s presence, “Sure I will,” he smiled, “As long as you have mine.” “Back for a back?” Marty offer his hand; Banjo grasped it and shook. Banjo turned back to the open sea, the mist started to clear and he glimpsed Gallipoli’s imposing cliffs. “It’s time,” Marty announced, “Let’s go get ‘em Turks!” he swung his rifle off his shoulder and grinned at Banjo as he flung himself into the deep blue ocean.
Banjo was about to follow him, but his anxiety stopped him, “I can’t do this, I’m not brave like Marty, I wanna go home to Ma and Pa.” Banjo found himself crying pitifully, his gut clenching, heart quavering. Fellow soldiers cascaded over the boat’s sides into the numbing water to scale the beach. To his horror, Banjo saw numerous comrades slump lifeless; at sea and on land. Then, he spotted Marty beckoning him to hustle, Banjo jolted out of the trance and dived into the now bloody sea.
He splashed towards Marty shivering with fear. Together they dashed wildly up the beach. Bullets flew in all directions. Banjo squeezed the trigger of his 455 Wembly spraying hundreds of bullets at the enemy line. Bombs exploded, debris flew, rifles thundered, men fell. Nightmarish chaos! Banjo’s eyes widened with panic. Friends were perishing and he couldn’t prevent it. “I can’t stop it, but I can get revenge.” This thought invigorated Banjo. He scrambled up the beach leaving Marty behind.
In his blinding hysteria, Banjo failed to acknowledge the grenade whistling towards him. It landed beside him; the shock wave eliminated his balance. Lying winded on the sand, the single moment of serenity wasn’t enough to regain composure. The grenade exploded! A dispatched shard of shrapnel smacked into his side. Banjo yowled in agony surveying the collage of bodies, blood, and bullets in search of Marty. Marty was further down struggling through a convoy of Turkish bullets. Time slowed as Marty misjudged the direction of one, it collided with his chest. Marty crumpled to the earth. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Banjo moaned, “MARTY!!!!! I never even got to say goodbye!”
Banjo towed himself down the beach towards his friend. “I was meant to have your back, if I hadn’t been so heedless, you’d still be alive! I’m sorry!” he gazed lamentingly into clouded eyes, realizing there was no hope, Marty was gone. “Bless your soul, Marty,” Banjo murmured yanking his friend’s dog tags off and sliding his eyes shut. Suddenly, Banjo’s anguish engulfed him. Deliriously he whispered, “I’ll never forget you Marty, you were the best mate I ever had.” Before he disintegrated into an ominous blackness on Marty’s bloodied chest. “I wanna go home!”