The Devil In The Field

Every inch counts.

Gusts of wind slashed at my open wounds, evoking cries of pain and grinding teeth. 

''..F**k.. F**k, F**k F**k---'' 

My eyes shot from one target to another. At least half a dozen. A glance backwards was uncalled for, I figured that I was alone. Nostrils tightend as if trying to keep the stench at bay, but it didn't do much. The sound of leather on stone caught my ears, sending me to the ground with a hasty leap. 

''..Who'der?!'' I muttered through blood and broken teeth, trying to sound both coherent and intimidating. Though I was likely  neither. A shell of a man, bloodied and injured, cowering in a stone bunker. The last man on the field, or so I believed. 

Using my trusty ebony binocolars I spotted six, or perhaps seven men when I looked forward, It was hard to tell through bloated and bloodied eyes. It was a stupid call. Not looking back. 

I was flanked, and about to die. ''..Pleasegod...I'mbegging ...God..'' 

A whisper. 

The power behind each word was minimal, every vowel uttered with the least amount of oxygen backing it up. But yet every word carried a blaze of light. It was not an enemy. 

''..There is no god here.'' 

With excruciating pain I turned my neck on it's hinges, supporting myself with his elbow to get a better view. I finally saw him. 

A kevlar helmet obscured his identity. Not a spec of blood covered his roughed up military uniform. 

He stood there like a statue. Looking down at me through his darkend visor. He palmed two hand grenades. One in each hand. His lips quivered, the only feature of his face I could see. 

Everything in this moment was enhanced. Made worse by the absurdity of it all.

It was why he whispered. 

Every smell a stench.

Every word a scream.

Every hesitation a terror. 

''...God is in our children, waiting for our return.'' 

He tightend the grip on his grenades, fingers coiling around them desperately, as if he was holding on to his heart, making sure it kept pumping. 

''...God is in our wives, yearning for our embrace.''

I decided to take another look through the binoculars, shutting out the rant. The enemies were getting closer.

''...God in our mothers, crying themselves to sleep.'' 

Their hunters were assertive on scaling the bunker. I had no more ammo to stop them, and it seemed neither did he.

''...But God stayed back home. He stayed with our wives, children and mothers. '' 

Something twisted at the corridors of my soul with his words. I thought about them. Waiting at home. My eyes burned with unshed tears as I finally nodded my head in silent acceptance. 

''...So don't pray to god. Not here. Not in this place. At this hour.'' 

The creeping, spine chilling sound of the rusty door wheels turning nearly froze my blood.

'''...Only the Devil exists in the field.''

 He unhooked both of the explosive spheres, inviting obscurity and leaping into the aybss.  

They stormed into the bunker, screaming, sprinting towards death, towards fire, towards madness.

 But he, he ran towards the door, gaining as much distance as he could, denying me from the jaws of oblivion. At the cost of his own life. He carried the grenades, they detonated when he was right at the door, a safe distance away from me. Drowning all the enemy soldiers with him in a bath of flames and sharpnels. 

The sound came first, a terrible thunder that overwhelmed everything else. The shock pummeled my body, tossing me like a ragdoll, shattering whatever was left to shatter. Then came the whistle, stabbing through my ears. I yearned for deafness. 

The veil of darkness cleared, and the smoke diluted. My chest rose with amazement, lungs took in all the oxygen they could, and the heart pumped as if doing so for the first time.

Disraught and baffled, I crawled towards the burnt carcass. It was burnt to a crisp, dark and mauled by the explosive hand of death. The Kevlar helmet protected the head, kept it mostly intact. 

With shaking hands I undid the bronze clasps, with all of my remaining strength,

I pulled it away.

He was practically a kid! No older then eighteen. Emerald eyes wide open, staring at my soul, devoid of emotion and life. 

''..You were wrong...'' I wept through bile and blood. 

''..God was in your heart, and that place was out of the devil's reach.'' 

Author's Note

About not one particular story, and yet about them all.

Reviews

[Lyn Anderson]

This is a beautiful, powerful, and gripping piece. The tiny parts that can be combed for minor grammar errors are there, yes, but inconsequential in the face of such a vivid story, easy to go back and fix. I know you have said before you know you should go back and edit, and yes, you should, only because the quality of your stories is so good, they should shine like polished diamonds.

[LastMonth]

Sorry for taking long to comment.
A bit busy lately.

Thank you for your review Goode, I'd love it if you could point out some errors you've noticed. I'd like to fix it today :)

[Jason Lawton]

Uhh, I'm finding myself dumbfounded by your writing. It's beautiful, it's sad, and it's brilliant. You have an amazing talent brother. Please for the love of every and anything holy do not stop writing.

[LastMonth]

You humble me. But I'll promise you this.
This is far from what I aspire to do, I'll get much better then this.
Eventually.

[Hyacinth]

This, this is one of those pieces that you just get sucked into, one of those pieces where you live through it with the character. The way you word everything is utterly beautiful. And the ending (gosh, the ending) is so heart-wrenching and mind numbing that I can believe you haven't got an award or something. The pain is so vivid.

Amazing work, as always.

[LastMonth]

Thanks Hyacinth. I'm glad that you liked it. You're humbling me with your flattery, I've still got a long way to go.

[Jacob Clifford]

What a powerful statement. This story is impactful and drives home a very strong message. The writing is very raw and unattractive, which is exactly as it should be. There is such a sharp contrast between the views of the two characters that it really makes the reader think about both ideas.

[LastMonth]

Thank you for stopping by to review. I'm grateful that you appreciated this.

[Cobblestone Traveler]

Chills. You are a gifted writer and I look forward to reading more of your work.

[LastMonth]

Thank you kindly. I'm glad that you enjoyed it.

[Deenaidoo]

Omg that was beautiful. Excruciatingly so.

[LastMonth]

Thank you :)

[M. L. F.]

I have two fiction faves on this site. They know who they are. So please take this compliment to heart. This was GOOD... I think this is the most important thing we can do as writers... to drag that reader right inside the writing. Let them smell the stench, let them feel the heat, fear, love, cry right along with us. If they don't, then we failed. I LOVE THIS PIECE.... It is gritty and raw and emotional and real... just the way writing should be. All the technical parts of writing can be learned by anyone, but I can tell you have it in you, that "thing" that makes your writing so good. You have lived a lot already, I see it in your writing. Pain has a way of making us sharper and sharper. Congrats on grabbing your writers emotions... I hope to read more of you.
..Misty

[LastMonth]

That is a pretty nice compliment to recieve.
Thank you kindly.

Pain does have a way of making us sharper,
But I believe we shouldn't let it dictate our path.
Like most things in life, it should be allowed to exist, yet not dominate.

Thank you for a wonderful review.

[M. L. F.]

You're welcome. And no, the pain we expercience should not dominate our lives, the light should. But the pain should always mold us for the better, to shape us into what we are to be, to make us better for ourselves and better for others, and that is what I meant here. That those pains can add to your writing as they strengthen your ability to let your readers feel everything in a way that simply imagining may not. Thank you for sharing.

[Woody]

Gosh incredible write my friend. intense! you are very good at conveying strong feelings.
the absurdity of war and the devastation it leaves behind.
a gripping tale, M.

[LastMonth]

Thanks woods!
Good to see you back.
I'm having some things keeping me away lately myself,
But I'm glad to see you reviewing/publishing once more.

[Gaia Octavia]

You wrote a great story. It pulled me in right away and kept me reading. I think there is a lot to take away from this story, even on top of the faith angle: The sacrifices - both the young soldier's and the sacrifices of the ones left behind, the crying mothers, the parentless children, the lonely partners, etc; the bravery of the soldiers and their loved ones; The gnawing thoughts that fill your head in moments of danger; and the desperate faith of those left behind that their soldier will come home. My favorite part was:

It was why he whispered.
Every smell a stench.
Every word a scream.
Every hesitation a terror.

Very jarring and so human. Great job!

[LastMonth]

I'm glad that you liked that part, I really tried to convey the absurdity of it all.
Thank you for your review Gaia, always a pleasure.

[Gaia Octavia]

Anytime ☺

[The Lazy Layman]

Wow ... this is really amazing. You really captured fear here and the cruelty of warfare. I really liked this piece; it causes lots of emotions and leaves you thinking about it after you're finished. Very good!

[LastMonth]

Thanks a bunch for the review. I appreciate it!