Life of a Soldier #4: Fires of Hell

It was a pleasure to burn. One would think that burning in the fires of hell is, and always will be, a torture of Satan himself. But compared to everything else I’ve done and been through, it’s not.

“No, please! Don’t do this!” A bloodcurdling scream and the cruel barking laughter of the Japanese soldier resonated in the wastelands as he inserted himself inside of my love, my everything, kissing her neck as she screamed for help. She wriggled and squirmed, trying to get him to stop, but his iron grip held fast, pressing her nimble and delicate hands down on the rough concrete. The jerk traced his calloused fingers down her spine and onto her thighs, smiling crookedly as he got on top of her as she laid, paralyzed underneath his weight, choking out weak cries while gasping for air.

All this was happening and I was powerless to stop it.

I pushed and pulled against my restraints, hoping that they would just grant me the tiniest chance to break free, but they held firm, refusing to let go. Warm and sticky blood started oozing down my arms, a dull ache eating away at my wrists as I tugged uselessly against the chains standing in between me and my wife.

“Please, stop…” My wife sobbed as she closed her eyes and writhed at the touch of his rough, chapped lips on her shoulders as the monster continued to touch and feel every fibre of her, stroking her lovingly as he got on top of her and inserted himself inside of her again and again, letting out moans and sighs of pleasure.

I’ve had enough. I snapped.

The chains gave way, breaking with a satisfying snap. My momentum swung forward as I launched myself against the Japanese soldier, knocking him off of the quivering, whimpering mess that is my wife, catching him off guard. Then all of a sudden he was on me. Beating me, choking me, really trying to hurt me. I couldn't escape. I was terrified. But I had to be strong. Every blow hurt me to my soul, his cold and cruel laughter drilling into me like a thousand silver daggers. I'm really messed up. I have hair missing, bruises all over, swelling, lumps on my head, bite marks, cuts, every injury imaginable was blatantly displayed to the world. My wife screamed and tried to get him to stop, but he was too strong for her.

A gleam of silver flashed before my eyes, and it feels like nothing but a small pebble was chucked at me. Being shot in the chest isn't painful, but that maybe my adrenaline’s doing, but I can literally feel my flesh absorb the shock waves, searing a dull burning pain across my chest.

This is it. I’m about to die.

I can feel my life and soul slipping out of life’s control and into the open arms of death. My wife grabbed my hand and sobbed in my chest, gently caressing the bullet wound near my heart, whispering “please don’t go” over and over again. I smiled weakly and said, “Do not be sad, my love. This is the cycle of life. People die. We still go on. Take care of our children, and don’t forget that I love you. You are the best wife a man could ever ask for.” I gave her a last kiss, an intimate and sad one, and savoured the salt of her tears and the faint earthy taste, and with that, I heaved my last breath and slipped beneath the surface of chrysanthemums and the freshly dug-up earth.

Farewell world, for I have done my duties to protect and fight for my beloved country. Don’t wait for me, because this has been a labour of my love.

Author Notes: Unfortunately, my lovely readers, this is the last story of this short series. I will be coming back with more stories and poems sooner or later, so wait up! A lot more is in store...

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