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Freedom's Cry of Sorrow
Freedom's Cry of Sorrow

Freedom's Cry of Sorrow


I raced up the battlefield. Despite the weight of my armor and gun, I was just a flash of green. I made several shots, each one taking down an enemy. At the end of each fight , I went to a field of graves. At the graves, I always would cry and feel horrible. Each enemy shot down would never again feel the love of their families, never see the sun setting on another day. My only comfort was the knowledge that I had given them an honorable fate, the fate of dying to protect all they loved and held dear. I snapped back into focus, and saw an enemy hiding in a bush. I fired, but it was too late. My partner was hit. As he stumbled, I caught him. There was a hole into his stomach. He was dead.His unseeing eyes stared towads the sky. A sob caught in my throat. I let out a howl of grief. The gunshots were drowned out by my cry. The fighting ceased momentarily as my howl of anguish, sorrow, and misery was heard. Both sides looked upon me, seeing my pain, but I did not see.

His name was Henery. He had been my closest friend since we were the youngest of lads. He had protected me from bullies, he had been my light in this dark world of hate. Now, without him I was lost. The fighting may have ceased momentarily, but many more would be lost. Many more wives would never see their husbands again. Many children would never meet their fathers. I recalled these words, freedom is a light for which many men have died in darkness. Despite both sides gathering troops and the dead, I stayed where I was, wishing I could die along with him. I knew that he had had an honorable death, but even that did not comfort me. Soldiers do cry, and weep, and they feel sadness worse than most because of how much death there is.They know pain which many people can never imagine. They lose so much in the name of freedom, but they know what they signed up for. Even knowing all of this, I still kneeled over him, all of my energy gone, silent tears sliding down my face. Soon, it started to rain and then pour, as if even the clouds knew my sorrow and were weeping for him too.

A light tapping on my shoulder brought me slowly back into reality. A captain looked down upon me, sadness clearly visible in his features. “Chase,” he said “It’s time to go.” I trudged back to the camp, lost in my misery, carrying Henry's lifeless body despite other’s protests. There was the plane, ready to bring us home.

After his funeral, I realized something. Henry had began out on my right side, but died on my left. He had jumped in the way of a bullet aimed for me. Even though it had cost him his life, he protected me to the very end.

Author Notes: Part one of hopefully a long series of a man named Chase, who must live in a world of loss, and new hope.

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14 Apr, 2018
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