“Our Battlefield” by Dylawnie Woods

OUR BATTLEFIELD

Dylawnie Woods*

I come to, dazed, and too exhausted to move. My eyes dart around, barely able to make out the foul scene of despair in front of me. I look up, bloody and tired, hunger the only thing on my mind.

Dozens of my comrades that I’ve eaten with, and laughed with, lay lifeless in near-neat rows around my feet. Terrified, I almost convince myself that they are playing dead, praying like prey that the predator they face will leave them be.

Those that have yet to fall and continue to fight are only those that chose to lie to themselves that what futile effort that they could muster could at all change the losing battle in front of them. Even so, I sit up helplessly as, one by one, their delusions crumble and I watch them struggle with their weapons before being shot down by an enemy we didn’t know well enough.

As they fall beside me, their thoughts projected onto their faces like cinema screens; I read their emotions. Some of their faces appear content with defeat as long as it is alongside their brothers-in-arms. Others bear contorted looks of what can only be interpreted as shame, seemingly envious of the deserters, whose collective fates may one day prove to be even bleaker than our own.

As I am about to fire my last round, cold, shaking, and unsteady, unsure if what I am drenched in is either sweat or blood, I pull the trigger. The bell rings, my comrades pick themselves up, we hand in our exams, and we leave our battlefield, defeated.