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Status: Finished  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 19, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 19, 2018



Why do shadows have to hide me in the walls of mud and wiry thorns? I’m just waiting here and listening to the sounds of gun claps and firing horns.

Their enemies are my friends, and every futile life we take has meaning to them.

So I do feel shame for my orders, but my trepidation never ends—until I look my adversary in the eyes, and I see the same young man enduring to survive.

And so we stare, two and two, in the midst of a dispute.


With sick broken skin, pale lips, and dirty hair; his blistering feet silked in dust and blood, and grasping his weapon are his chalky hands.

His two eyes staring in mine, a desperate whisper from his sweaty face, and the last of his hope leaks a dirty tear.

But as we stand two and two, both too weak, I can see his imminent fear.

His hands like mine, my two arms and his.

We both are fighting for our own side, both willing to die;

but both hoping not to at the same time.

His family praying for his life, and my family praying for mine. Both of us have feet that run, lives at home, war-torn minds, hearts that beat, pictures in our sleeves, and post-war dreams. We’re really no different;  so what does war have to do with it?


Man is man, land is land. We fight and we win, so why do we have no one to triumph with?

We fight and we lose, but why do we still have families to make amends with?

All our lives are lost in dead eyes; forgotten in pointless lies.


He approaches empathetically but is still bodies away from me. My enemy, this soldier, this man no different than I; these men crying and debating if their life is worth the fight or to die. Yet both sides still want something more to enrich their countries own lives. But who is there to enjoy the rewards if all their people had died? We’re the same kind, with the same blood. Maybe God intended none of this to survive, but maybe He expected it from our humankind.


He steps forward with no intentions and ignores the war around. Then my comrade, too scared to pause for life, shot this very man in front of my eyes. So his comrade did the same; he shot my body, I didn’t see him hesitate.

And as if it were me—as if I watched my reflection die—I grabbed at my chest, blood seeping through the gunshot in my flesh.

We both collapsed on our sides, dead eyes to dead eyes. I had a life, he did too. What good did fighting for our countries really do? His two hands and my two feet; God’s creations caught in mans’ deceit. Two and two, both the same.

Now just two bodies, two families still hopeful, not prepared for the tragic news.

Now we’re being counted as just two numbers justifying

who will win...

...and who will lose.


© Copyright 2019 AJ Bossard. All rights reserved.

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