More Important Than Fear

This is a short story about a man who is fighting in the trenches during WW1. It is an allegory, portraying the conflicts between fear and courage, as well as problems that occur during war.

The morning air stings my lungs as I take my first, deep breath of the day. My eyes refuse to open…they are all but frozen shut. My hands shake as I bring them to my face, digging my lifeless fingers into my eye sockets. They are stuck in a curve, due to clutching my rifle, the M1917 Enfield, in my fists while I slept. My hair is getting too long; the dark tufts are sticking in random directions. I do my best to flatten them before placing my helmet onto the top of my head. There is an itch on my chin; the coarse hairs lining my jaw tickle my deadened hands as I scratch.

The sun is slowly peeking up over the edge of the earth, which means it’s that time of day again. My body aches as I heave myself off the pile of sandbags I was sleeping on. Around me, men shuffle quietly as they try to shake off the cold from the night. Their figures are hunched over. The mutual understanding that every morning brings the same dismal attitude, a new day with unchanged dangers, weighs down on us all.

The boards under my feet creak slightly as my weight shifts. I stand on the toes of my boots, looking over the heads of the crowd for my friend, Joey. I spot his curly, blonde hair in the crowd. Pressing my lips together, I speed-walk over to him, clutching his elbow in my hand once I reach him. His eyes widen in surprise. His grin is enough to tell me he is glad to see me.

“Hey there Danny-boy, good to see the rats didn’t make you their meal last night.” He says with a hushed voice, hoarse from a sleepless night.  

I smile, trying not to let the cold numbness in my chest show on my face. I must not have done a good job, because soon his face falls. Joey understands. All these men do, with their rough exteriors, they all understand.

The sun has steadily continued its climb up into the sky. Now, rays of purple shoot across the sky, cutting through the black of night-time. Automatically, we situate our gear, ensuring we have enough ammo to last us through the morning. We check each other’s uniforms, making sure boot laces are tied and helmets fit snuggly on top of heads. There is a spot of white standing out against my green uniform. It’s the handkerchief my wife gave me for good luck. I shove it back down into my pocket, making sure it is safe and sound.

Joey and I walk to a spot on the fire step, crouching so our heads don’t peep up over the sand bags lining the dirt wall of our trench. The frozen clumps of mud make crunching sounds under our weight.

All is quiet as we listen for the sounds of approaching footsteps. So far, we have heard nothing but the sound of a slight breeze whispering over the dirt wall. A bird flutters its way down in front of me. The sight of something so beautiful in this desolate place makes my eyes water. It squawks at me, opening its dark blue wings and flying away. How lucky it is, that it can simply let the breeze carry it away from this place. If only it were that easy- I’d open my own arms and let the sky swallow me.  

Joey looks over at me. We listen with our breaths held for the sound of approaching enemies. Dawn and dusk are dangerous times; you never know when the Germans will decide to surprise us. But right here, right now…something isn’t right. Our eyes meet in a silent agreement.  All I can hear and feel is my heart pounding.  My hair is standing on end. Then, above us is a kite. It flies slowly through the air- the bold words on it are scarcely readable. It taunts us, with an evil curiousness. In war, being curious is what gets people killed.

Joey shifts uncomfortably, trying to read what the piece of cloth says. He stands on his toes, and without realizing it- his head surpasses the cover of the sandbags. I reach out to pull him back down, but I am too late. The deadly whiz of a bullet has shattered the quiet air as it rips through Joey’s forehead. He is dead on impact, but there must have been a second sniper aiming Joey. He lets go of a second bullet that flies cleanly through Joey’s throat. His rifle falls to his feet as gravity claims his corpse. Falling backwards, the ground calls to swallow him whole.

I know better than to throw my own weapon, so as I jump from the fire step, I place it down as gently as I can while never removing my eyes from my fallen friend. His body hits the ground, muddy water spraying up and around him.  Crying will do nothing to call him back to me. He is dead and I can’t fix that. He stares blankly at the sky- it’s not a good look for him. His usual gentle but intense grey eyes are now faded. Blood runs down his neck, mixing with the dirt as it gushes from the hole in his throat.  

“Joey! Oh- Joey. You can’t leave me so soon, I’m all alone now!” I shout to him, pounding his chest with my fists, willing my strength to beat the life back into him.

It was an innocent mistake- but one with harsh consequences.  Someone pulls my shoulder, drawing me back to the plight of present. In the few seconds I had been kneeling by my friend, Hell decided to release its jaws and spew venomous demons at us. Men are rushing to and fro- flying in and out of the trench. Germans and Americans throw themselves into the mix. Bodies clutter everywhere.

With one last glance at Joey, I stand. My rifle is in my grip once more as I jump up and over the top of the sandbags. In No Man’s Land, things are worse. Even more bodies are littering the ground. The sun has disappeared behind clouds as though a beast of magnificent size spread its wings over the entire sky, preparing to pounce on us all.

‘A rainy day’ I think to myself, ‘how perfect.’

I can see now the men rushing towards us from across the crater and barbed wire filled landscape before me. Until this moment, I never fully understood what was implied when people say ‘...And time slowed down’. But now, I feel the panic, the adrenaline, the anger, the despair all fighting to gain control. I watch the things before me unfold so slow, I can see sweat flying off of brows, I can see blood droplets splattering the air like paint falling off a brush; I can feel men running around me, pushing their bodies past me aggressively.

With each step I take, my body gains a hundred more pounds. I have no destination, other than to the men sprinting towards me. The coldness of the earth no longer touches my body. Instead it was a chill creeping out from within. I can taste the bitterness of the raw emotions harboring in my core. My rifle seems to lift itself into my shoulder; my fingers have a mind of their own as they grip my weapon, and fire.

I can no longer feel the recoil as time speeds up once more. As I fire, hot and uncontrolled tears fall down my cheeks. I fire and fire and fire. I don’t register the faces I see, I don’t hear the gasps that come with every life I take. No- I don’t hear any of it. But I feel it. I feel it like a punch to my soul. Every light I burn out adds to the fire in my heart. Not only is there conflict surrounding me, but there is a battle raging inside me: a battle in which fear is trying to gain control. He is a relentless chaos, trying to shred every last bit of hope in my heart.

Time slows once more, grabbing a hold of us like a wave of crystal clear water. The men around me float as though they are being tossed by a wicked current.

Click, click.

I am out of ammo. My rifle falls from my grip. Grenades are flying through the air, sending dirt into my mouth as they hit around me. The plumes of dust look like murky water. The earthy taste reminds me…of what? In this pungent cage I have lived in, I have locked away memories of my past. But now, they flood through a gate. A memory swirls into my mind’s eye.

It is a garden generously filled with beautiful flowers. Birds hum softly in the trees. A laugh catches my attention; the tenderness of it tugs my heart. A woman, with hair so red, it looks like a halo of fire. The curls plunge past her shoulders, bouncing as she dances and spins.

She stops twirling, and in her arms, a boy. His shrieks of joy summon me over to them. The woman hands him to me, and the boy is full of joy at the thought of me holding him in my strong arms. His blue eyes, so similar to my own, are sparkling. His dark hair is a wild mess. His mother was always jealous that he got my dark looks, instead of her fair complexion.

All too soon, I am yanked out of this beautiful place- and my body cries out for it to come back. My heart is trying to rip its way from my chest- it wants to escape. And I don’t blame it. I am stuck here in this slow motion darkness, with hatred boiling up from inside me. I am choking on it all, I just wish a bullet would find its way into my brain; I’m so tired of feeling this emptiness.

My knees give out and I fall. I just want to scream and scream and scream. I want the air in my lungs to stop existing. I want my body to go cold and never feel again. I want to rip away the skin I wear- I do not deserve it. I am just a monster.

And suddenly, I see her. Like a ghostly figure wandering through a grave-yard. Her image is faint, I can see through her as she walks towards me. She is so beautiful, like a shimmering goddess. She does not belong here in this setting. My wife is here with me. My hands ache for her… to touch her cheek, to hold her as she kisses me with those soft lips. I want to feel her body heat- it’s the only thing that can warm the devil inside me.

She smiles at me, so sweetly. And just like that, the frost in my soul has fallen away. Those eyes, so precious and full of love, watch me carefully. And then, she is there, touching my face with her sinister fingertips. She is a hallucination but I feel her. I want to be next to her once again, to hold her and my son.

“You will.”  Her voice has become the wind.

It is soft as it brushes past me. It lifts me up, and quickly I’m on my feet. My hand has found its way to my knife. The curved handle fits in my palm perfectly. The image of my wife fades, but not before she looks around, seeing the men fighting. My brothers…they need me. We are in this together; we all have a reason to live. I will fight with them, and get as many home to their families as I can.

“I will.” I say through clenched teeth.

I will see them again, just as many of these men will see their loved ones. The fear in my heart has shriveled up smaller than a raisin. In its place, bravery has blossomed. This is who I am, I am not a coward. I am loyal, I know my duty, I am full of respect, I will continue to serve selflessly, I will earn my honor, I have integrity, but most of all, I have personal courage.  

Once more, time has returned. But I am ready. I look at these men trying to kill us, and I know I must beat them to it. My brain does not see what I am doing. It is all an instinct as my knife finds its way into body after body. I weave my way around, until there are no more. The sounds of rifles being fired have been erased from the sky. Grenades no longer snap at the ground. Machine gun blasts have stopped skittering across the dirt.

I look down, panting. My hands and forearms are covered in blood that is not my own. Do I regret it? No. How could I- when the German soldiers would not have regretted doing the same to me? I would have only been another life that did not matter to them. But now…we must pick ourselves up, and do it all once again. I search the ground, listening to the moans of the dying. I look for men in my uniform, hoping to find any alive.

I spot a young man, barely 17. His hands grasp his thigh, holding back blood that seeps through his shaking fingers. I take my handkerchief and tie it to his leg. His blood will stain the starch white material, but I don’t mind. Soon, I have this boy on my shoulders, carrying his weight on my back. He will live. My foot steps are no longer heavy, but fill of promise.

It’s a promise that I will leave this place- either on foot or in a coffin. But I won’t let my fear gain control again. Not when I have more important things to fight for.

Author's Note

I will accept feedback. Please enjoy the story. Let me know what you think (:

~If you are wondering, my inspiration for this story is my favorite quote, given by Ambrose Redmoon, who in himself is a mystery to most people who hear his famous words "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear."~

***I do not own the picture used on this story. It is a picture from a Television show titled The Great War.***

Reviews

[RAOrourke]

I thought this was a very well written story. The details were written in a way that the reader can visualy see the pain and suffering and war-torn atmosphere that this character is facing. Well done in your writing!