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painted by Derek Murray
JUST A STORY
What the hell is a story? Just a lot of hot air placed between the pages of a book, or is it?
We all go about our daily business, paying little attention to the world around us, doing what we must to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. OK some times we cant help thinking about the wider picture, particularly when we know that if we stand back and do nothing, things are only going to get worse.
Most stories start with the phrase once upon a time. Well this story starts with the phrase. “What the hell just happened?”
One moment I am fighting side by side with my comrades, trying to survive with shells landing all around making the air thick with a smell that is indescribable, then another command came bellowing from the captain’s mouth. Suddenly time stands still and I’m lying in the mud with a bayonet being drawn out of my side. Shit, the bastard above me looking more scared than a Fox caught by the hounds.
This cant be rite all the shouting and gunfire has stopped its just to quiet. Had we been so overrun? I know where I am, with those bastards with bayonets just waiting. There is so much smoke and mist around I dare not make a noise otherwise another bastard would come along to finish me off.
You try not to make a noise, when your innards have just been shredded.
I must have past out a few times because I had vivid dreams of home, parade ground and the open field where I walked as a lad.
Literally petrified. I can’t move, but on the plus side I don’t want to move either. What the hell is this war about? Kill or be killed. I am a fighter in the true sense of the word professionally as well as in attitude. One of the best, how many have I killed? More than my share, that’s for sure but never at close quarters.
That bastard sneaking up on me like that, he must be close. I can sense him.
The pain from my side doesn’t seem to hurt as much as it should, if the medics get to me soon I must be in with a chance.
“Bastards, bastards.” I curse under my breath, but I mustn’t make a noise.
Christ I could do with a fag, but if I had one I couldn’t light it. One little pinpoint of light would be a good giveaway. It feels like I’ve been lying here forever. O.K I will try to get back. It’s bloody obvious that if I don’t do some thing soon I will be dead before I know it. I know that this mist is not going to clear quickly, I cant see more than a few feet in front of me, that also means that those bastards cant see me either.
God its slow going, I seem to be able to stop my innards from spilling over the floor, but it could be my jacket doing the job holding it all together.
I sense something up in front, but I can’t make it out. You have to take extra care some times and this is one of those times.
I’m hallucinating now, God I’m worse than I think I am, because I can hear a group of people mumbling just in front of me. Why would people dressed in civvies be out here in this shit? They are telling this little girl she shouldn’t be afraid. What the hell is a little girl doing here?
I am hallucinating, must be, or I’m
Painted by Derek Murray
going round the bend, could be both. They have the little girl playing with some toys. Now there are lots of children playing. She seems a lot happier now. Then she just ups and leaves with the other children. I have lost it. Impossible, impossible hear I am in the middle of no-mans-land. I can still see this little group sitting close together in a circle. This is more like a dream, Its as though I am standing behind one of the ladies. I feel calm and completely entranced. They are sitting like statues, then one person says they have man dressed in uniform standing in the circle and she describes him. Well I tell you, I can’t see him and it’s not a uniform I am familiar with. Come to think of it these people seem to be dressed in oddly! I can’t see this soldier that is being talked about. She says he says he’s just waiting. I’ve cracked!
Suddenly I am back in the real world with the smell and the mist. Fear just overwhelms me. I can’t see a bloody thing, but I know that if I don’t get back soon I’m a goner. The next second I’m even closer to this lady and I feel as if I am sitting with them. All the sensations I feel are different, the mist has gone and I speak allowed “Those bloody bastards with a bayonets” I hear myself, as clear as day as I repeated it.
Then someone tells me not to be worried. It’s all right for someone to tell you not to worry when they’re not the one with bits of their innards waiting to spill out over the floor. This idiot is telling me that my wound is no longer there and that my uniform is no longer dirty, torn and bloody. Panic struck, as someone said I was dead, no longer in that same environment. As they talked things around me became clearer. I was warmer, dry, and without pain.
I feel very much alive how the hell could I be dead? Dead is dead I have seen enough dead on the battlefield to know what death looked like.
Look at your clean uniform someone says and for the first time my uniform felt like new. I have never seen the buttons so bright. How could it be?
They asked me if I could see another soldier standing nearby. For the first time I could make out the hazy outline of someone standing a short distance from me. Then I realised it was the soldier that the other person described. I knew he was one of ours, but I still didn’t recognise the uniform. He saluted and smiled I just knew that he was OK.
He didn’t speak but patted me on the back, I know its OK to go with him, and then just off to the side I could see some of my mates waving, trying to get my attention. To say I felt good was a bloody understatement.
The soldier who was with me turned to the small group sitting in a circle and waved, it was as if he knew them. Now my mates swamped us shaking my hand, patting me on the back and generally all talking to me at the same time. A few I knew had fallen weeks before me, one shot through the head taking half of his face off. Not a bloody a scratch on him and I’m sure he looked younger.
I will end this little story as it started with the same question “What the hell just happened?”
Didn’t someone once say that truth could be stranger than fiction?
rescue : circle : help : spirit : crossing : over :
rescue : circle : help : spirit : crossing : over :
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