...Chop wood, carry water...: April 2009

Ron won a creative writing contest, short story division, with the following story. The ending is a surprise, but not in the way I expected. One of the marks of a good story, I guess.

White Sandy Beaches

The linen sheets were white as snow, enveloping me like a cocoon. But a small part of me knew that this time I would not be able to break out and fly away. There was no wind to grace my wings, save for the stale air stirred around by the ceiling fan above my solitary bed. The steady creaking of the gears in the fan was enough to drive me up the wall, had I the energy to move. The window was closed, and the blinds were shut, and an eerie darkness crept through the small hospital ward. There was no escape. I was a bird with its wings clipped, or maybe I was just getting too old to use them to their full extent. Sweat dripped down my brow and I cursed the enclosed space I was trapped in. I needed fresh air, and I hated lying there, knowing my last few breaths of oxygen would be of the recycled air that had been floating still for the past twenty-four hours.

I heard footsteps behind the closed door. Maybe it’s the nurse coming to check on me, I thought. Go away. I closed my eyes, wishing to slip away into another reality, into a dream. Perhaps I could sink into a vacation where I was on a beautiful island in the Pacific, with white sandy beaches and water so clear it blended in with the indigo sky. Anywhere but here…

The footsteps were growing louder and moving more rapidly toward the door. I clenched my sheets in annoyance. Why can’t they just leave me in peace?

BOOM! The door banged open, revealing behind it a battered and charred hallway, blackened with ash. A soldier in a torn and bloody uniform clambered into the room, a red gash protruding from his right cheek down to his chin. Blood seeped from the wound, and he spit the crimson liquid and watched it splash upon the dusty wooden floor.

“Odell! Leave him, you’re not doing him any good!” He shouted. He glanced back to the door, as if expecting to see Hitler himself marching through the frame.

My eyes shifted downward and rested upon a pale face staring blankly through me with white glassy eyes. I felt tears spill from my bloodshot eyes, falling like the first few drops of a rain storm. I let go of the dead man’s tunic, which I had previously been clutching for dear life. My hands were red with blood, and I wiped them upon my pants with an astonished cry. I didn’t want to leave him. He was at boot camp with me, and had served as an excellent companion henceforth.

I could never get used to the idea of death, no matter how many times it stared me straight in the face. Life seemed way too fragile, and every life seemed too insignificant if it could just be put out like the small flame of a candle. Nothing seemed worth fighting for if we all end up meeting the same demise. Everyone dies alone, nobody can accompany us into the void.

“Odell! This place is gonna collapse. Let’s get the hell out!” I snapped back to reality, and unwillingly lifted my eyes away from the blank stare of Jimmy Conor, my brother in arms. I rose from the floor, and gazed again at my crimson palms. The meager meal I had consumed that morning churned loosely in my stomach. I wretched violently, but gathered myself, and reached for the arms of the fallen soldier at my feet.

“Dammit! Why do you always have to do this, man?” Asked Fallon, as he walked swiftly towards the corpse and bent down to grab the legs. “Hurry up, and be careful on the stairs.” We heaved the body up and made for the hallway. I could hear shouting in the distance, and gun shots echoing between the buildings in the street below. It was slow work because of the added weight of our guns, ammunition, and supplies, but we eventually made it down the stairs, and into the courtyard outside.

“Put him over there” I said grimly, nodding my head toward the side of a house where other corpses were strewn. We lugged the body to our designated location, and lied him down gently next to a lieutenant of about 35 years of age. Just another ripple in a sea of the dead…

I turned my back, trying not to dwell on the sight of my dead friends. Dead. Corpses seemed like just empty shells, crude mockeries of a human form. A good person might have lived behind its dead eyes, but it’s like you barely recognize him. The essence of what made him noble, honorable, a leader, a friend, was no longer there. I felt hot tears burn in my eyes, and I blinked, letting them spill down my face, their wake washing away the dirt and grime from my skin. I straightened my helmet, and turned back to Adam Fallon, who was searching the dead for dog tags.

Corporal Fallon was a replacement, who had replaced James McRoy on D-Day minus 4. There wasn’t much to tell about his appearance. He had black hair, standard military regulation cut, and green eyes that had quickly diminished to two dark haunted spheres sunken into a ghostly face. He was sensible, and reliable, but never made for good conversation or a mood lightener.

He took a cigarette from his pocket and struck a match with a trembling hand. At that moment a crash sounded from the building we had just evacuated, and the roof gave way. A thick, brown curtain of dust blocked the wrecked house and its surroundings from view as Fallon and I stared astonished at our previous location. Either God or pure luck was with us that day.

Out of unspoken consent, we did not discuss the soldiers and civilians who died on that fateful red evening. We trudged our way back to where the rest of our company was camped, and did our best to keep our minds from being overwhelmed by the ghosts of our former comrades by reading adventure novels and writing letters home. Every time I wrote the words “My Dear Natalie” on the worn page of my notebook, I could not help but fathom the thought that it might be the last time I would write them. Whatever daunting thoughts swam through my head however, I would write the letters as if I would see my beloved the very next day, as if I was merely on a vacation with some relatives, walking down white sandy beaches, wishing she was by my side.

*

I awoke the next morning, and cleared the sleep from my eyes with cold water from a battered clay pitcher. I rose from my cot, and stepped outside the tent, gazing wondrously at the ravaged and torn landscape before me. The French town was in complete ruins. Ash was strewn on the charred ground like dirt in the Sahara. It was difficult to discern which was a pile of rubble, and which was a ruined building.

I coughed as I inhaled ash, quickly turned my head out of the wind and shielded my dirty face with my hand. It didn’t matter if you smoked cigarettes or not, your lungs would eventually turn to blackened sacks of smoke. It wasn’t natural.

“Ahhh…beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!” I turned around and saw the leader of my platoon emerging from a tent. “Nothing beats a sunrise in France!”

I smiled, and turned my head back towards the east, admiring the bright yellow sun emerging from the distant hills. Purple and orange clouds gathered around the luminous sphere, enveloping it, but not blocking the immense rays. I was glad that even amidst all the chaos of war, that I could still appreciate beauty. The fact that it still even existed sent a grain of hope into my heart.

“June 12th, 1944. D-day plus…umm..”

“Six, sir.” I answered.

“Well, how ‘bout it?” It was a rhetorical question. I nodded slowly, still gazing eastward, trying to clear my mind of any impending doom, whether it be the thoughts of the past or future. “Pack up. We move out at 0700.”

“Yes sir.” I replied. The lieutenant walked back towards the command tent, where soldiers were bustling about like ants in a colony, all gathering ammunition and other necessities. First Lieutenant Dol Adams was my platoon leader. He led myself, and six others to victory in every battle since we had landed in Normandy; only two. He was an outstanding leader, whom all the men trusted. He was sarcastic and humorous, but could be intimidating if he wanted to be. He was a great man to have right at your side in the middle of a fight. He would charge as fast as he could, shouting swear words and egging us on, while still keeping a cool head and making sure we all got out alive. I didn’t think I would have made it half way up the beach if it wasn’t for him.

I walked back to my tent and gathered the rest of my belongings: an extra canteen, my compass, which was a gift from my father, and a small, rectangular, picture frame that seemed to tarnish the beauty of the picture inside. The picture was of me and my Natalie, my beloved, and betrothed. We were sitting on a tire swing in the front of my house; a moment of pure happiness and joy frozen in time. The frame was slowly falling apart and the picture was slowly fading, like the stars at dawn. I put it inside my pocket, and closed my eyes for a bit longer than a standard blink. How I longed to be near her once again.

I pushed my fiancé to the back of my mind (as difficult as that was), and walked out into the smoky, summer air.

“Morning Sunshine!” First Sergeant Jason Worth came marching up to me, his M1 Garand semi-automatic resting on his shoulder, and helmet lopsided on his head. He was unshaven, and would have normally been apprehended for his scruffiness, but under the conditions, our superiors didn’t really care. He had a thick Cuban cigar in his mouth, and the wispy gray smoke that protruded from it created a ghostly mask that covered his scarred face. “Did you get Conor outa that building yesterday?” He asked in his thick southern accent.

“Yeah, me and Fallon carried him out.” I answered, grimly.

“Good…Yeah, that’s good, man.” He stated. “He at least can rest without some building crushin’ him now. Hey man, you don’t look so good. Did you see Anson yesterday?” Richard Anson was our corpsman, our medic.

I shook my head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small round mirror, which he lifted in front of my face. I had not seen my reflection since before D-day. My face looked darker because of the smoke and ash constantly bombarding my skin every day, and my eyes seemed as if they would be bloodshot for the next five years. I also looked older, I could see it in my eyes; two glassy spheres, deeper and darker than I ever remember them being. A dark purple bruise covered my left eye, and a violent, red gash ran from my chin across the lower part of my cheek. I had not even felt it before. Emotional pain had far outstripped physical pain.

“You should probably get that checked out, man.” Suggested Worth, putting the mirror back in his pocket. I ran my fingers along the gash cautiously.

“Nah, it feels fine. Must not be that major. We’ll have more time later anyway.” I replied. “And man, why do you have a mirror?”

He was just about to respond, when a loud explosion sounded from the southern end of the camp. We instinctively ran towards the disturbance, Worth running slightly ahead of me, machine gun rounds bouncing on his bag. I straightened my helmet over my short black hair, and fastened it securely. A bunker was fifty feet ahead of us. We rushed toward it and dove head-first, landing on our knees and elbows. I leaned my back against the wall of the man-made trench, and loaded ammo into my gun. There were about twenty other soldiers scattered along the trench, all loading their guns and yelling into radios.

“What the hell is going on?!” I yelled at a soldier near by, who was kissing a silver cross necklace.

“Mortars!” He shouted.

I cursed our luck. “I thought these bastards gave up for now.” Gunfire erupted from beyond the trench and I saw dirt and mud spray over our heads.

“We can’t flank them?” Yelled Worth, peeking his head above the wall. I saw a small round object soar twenty feet to my left and land on the ground next to two soldiers, bouncing menacingly. I watched as if it were in slow motion.

“FIRE IN THE-!!!”

BOOM!!!

Now everything was in slow motion. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t smell, I couldn’t move. All I could hear was a loud ringing in my ears, and my heart throbbing like a bass drum being pounded double time. I could feel the blood rushing through my veins as I slowly opened my eyes. Corpses were strewn around me, a disembodied arm lay limply at my feet. I wanted to yell, but no air fueled my lungs. And then suddenly, out of the carnage, a white light began to grow, faint at first, but then brighter and brighter as it got closer to me.

I was dead. I knew it. The face and body emerging from the light could not be real. Surely, she was an angel, sent to walk me through the golden gates. She had the most beautiful face I had ever seen, or ever would see. Startling blue eyes, all-knowing, wise, and piercing, long brown wavy hair that flowed like water past her shoulders. She was not naked, but she was not clad in any discernable articles of clothing.

I raised a trembling hand to feel her skin, to see if it was real. The closer my hand got to her perfect face, the more she backed away. She beckoned, and confused, I followed. She began to glide swiftly out of the trench and I trotted obediently behind her. I felt pressure in my chest and a wetness spreading across my torso. I looked down and saw crimson liquid soaking my tunic, two bullet holes seemed to emerge from the red.

I did not feel the pain. I could still move, and move I did, ever closer to the angel, to my beloved, my betrothed, my Natalie…

*

The creaking of the fan was beginning to get even more monotonous as I lie there, smelling the stale air of a hospital, the smell I despised so much. A soft beeping had joined the creaking of the ceiling fan, and I looked around at the monitor to the left of my bed. The beeping was repeating slower than the creaking, and I gazed observantly at the thin red line that rose and fell over and over again. It began to slow more rapidly, and I could feel my lungs slowly getting tired. I inhaled and exhaled, noticing how much energy it took.

*

I followed aimlessly, guided by the light, by her beauty. She was getting further and further away. Soon, I would not be able to reach her. What would I do then? How would I survive?
Then, as sudden as she had come, she disappeared. I cried out in despair, and fell to my knees. Pain tore through my body as the bullets’ impact took effect. No… I thought. I cannot die. Not now… Natalie’s face was still etched vividly in my mind. Not now…

*

People were gathered around my bed, panicking people garbed in white, with white masks, and white eyes. Their loud voices were muffled to me, and from their midst appeared my angel. My angel, out of the darkness, my Natalie. She was as beautiful as ever. Twenty-one, and infinite in youth. She had the eyes I had more recently come to know before she died; the eyes of a seventy-five year old woman, wise and strong as an ancient tree.

I missed you. I said to her.

I have never left you. She replied.

I could hear the beeping of the monitor growing fainter and fainter, and Natalie took my pale, wrinkled hand in hers. Warmth spread through my body like hot chocolate on a cold winter night.

Welcome home… She whispered. I saw the wedding ring on her finger that had never left since our wedding day. She pulled me out of the bed, and we walked out of the room. I was not breathing anymore. Breathing wasn’t important. The only thing that was important was my love for her.

I could feel sand between my toes, and hear the waves crashing on the beach. Maybe… I thought, as I gazed affectionately at my wife. Maybe death…is not so bad.