“Everyone fall back! They’re trying to push us into a corner!”I heard my friend shout from a distant, his voice was almost unheard as it was swallowed by the deafening sounds of heavy guns firing in every blinding direction, leaving most of the soldiers no choice but to feel the panic surge through their weakening and limping limbs, and that included mine. It was a pathetic feeling, I know, all of us know. The struggle we were going through; it was predicted and horribly inevitable.

 

I remember the time when I received the order to join the army, the look on my wife’s face, his hands squeezing my upper arms with a silent prayer he would never utter. Of course the answer was obvious. We could never say no when it comes to serving our country.

 

Innocent? Inexperienced?

 

 Those elements mattered to nobody. Sure, you’d be taught how to handle a gun and all those basic things related to being a soldier, but from what I know it would only just for one day of training and then you’d surely be sent into the awaiting battlefields, to be added into the lessening number of armies, since the rests had fallen.

 

Never going to return.

 

But they died with a sense of pride for our country within them, that they had finally received the shower of compliments from those who they loved, and that - sacrificing myself for the country - has always been my dream if I joined the army when I was a younger version of myself.

 

And for sure the love for my country can never be described into words. Getting myself into a war is nothing to be compared to what my country has done to me in my whole life. Desertion and cowardice--military crimes. Those of shall I never commit.

 

 I didn’t waste my time to dash back to where we had emerged from earlier for cover, behind the ruins; the only things that were left of my high school I had been attending for years. It was a devastating scenery, and it crushed my heart each time every memory of my childhood time spent there unfolded in my inner vision; friends, teachers, the school staff, classes, fights, books and list could go on and you know what it felt like to get a chance to study at a school. Fun.

 

But that was in the past.

 

My boots molding my aching feet felt heavy and I was beyond exhausted and the freezing weather was making sick, but I still willed my legs to bring me to join with the others because obviously I still.. wanted to survive. In my blurry vision, I saw as one man suddenly stumbled over one of the hacked flesh with a groan, the gun in his arms was thrown forward as he face-planted into the literal carpet of soaked blood and I wanted to turn around to help him, as he tried to push himself onto his feet and grab the weapon of his that was now lying out of his reach, but I was stopped short as the sound of guns blazed through the atmosphere, and the said man no longer moved a muscle, his red-tainted uniform torn .

 

So close.

 

My heart skipped a beat.

 

My wife was pregnant with our first child in his third trimester. For so long, I’d been wanting to experience the feeling of being the happiest man alive, to hold my child when he or she was born; that’s what my friends had said when we chatted about our lives. I couldn’t help but feel jealous of them as I knew I wouldn’t be able to do so. That’s why my wife, Kai was unwilling - I myself was the same - to let me go when I hugged him for what looked and felt like for the last time.

 

This. This battlefield would be my grave.

 

“Yuu!” My friend called out my name, desperation and panic lining his rough voice. “What the hell are you doing?! The enemies--” He cursed as he ducked his head, several fresh dark burning holes had made their way through the metal wall behind him, just a few inches above his head.

 

Staring with shock, deep inside I silently thanked God for saving his life or else I would lose my only best friend. Scrambling to his feet, he began firing towards the enemies behind me, getting a few good head shots--his skills were remarkable. It was not a wonder he was chosen to lead me and my teammates.

 

Finally able to reach my destination, we managed to get a clear look at our rivals, it was relieving enough, but couldn’t last long as a few shells with chlorine gas exploded just a few feet away from us and I heard myself curse out so loud, ”the mask!” Someone shouted, and I went to search for one and immediately put it on. I thought everyone had succeeded in wearing their masks on, but my friend. He was too late.

 

And at the exact moment , I saw, we all saw, the gruesome effects of the gas on him, “Akira!” It was a helpless shout; and that’s the last time I called out his childhood name. The most heart-breaking thing I’d seen was when his weapon fell from his arms as his hands flew to his throat, choking as if he was being choked by some hands when he was not, and he looked as if he was drowned by some enemies in a sea when he was not. And there were other things I could never describe, for I lamented the fact I couldn’t save him when he did for me.

 

  I feel sorry for him. I really do.

 

  But he died for our country. And that mattered to him. I’m so proud of him.

 

  The war finally had finally reached its end, after I went through a few more nights and days, months, perhaps; it was my love towards my country and my friend’s death that drove me forward, firing up the spirit existed within me. ‘Survived’ didn’t sound like a suitable word for me, and it didn’t feel right when my friend wasn’t here like I was. Laying down in our beds which were positioned next to each other like in the barracks, unlike here, me, alone in a hospital, getting a medical attention.

 

A few weeks later I was discharged with a few broken bones in my left leg and burnt and bruised skin were already treated by the doctors and nurses in charge., and I was welcomed with a baby boy when I opened the door to my house, and he was so adorable, so small so innocent.

 

  “I’m home.”

 

 For life is precious. 

 

I hope once he, my son, grows older and begins his own life, I want him and his descendants understand the sacrifices of those soldiers, who put their lives, their health, their faith on the line for the new generations, and do all they could to ensure that their work, their health, and their lives are not treated carelessly. And, now I realized that, getting your life sacrificed isn’t as easy, and full of glory as people said. Because only the ones who, have gone through those wars, like me, know exactly how the feeling was like actually.

 

I finally met Akira’s wife , Kouyou, a few days later after taking a 6-hour train ride, spending hours with him and his 2-year-old son. They had received the news about Akira’s death long ago, and I could see himself getting older than his age and more exhausted than usual, even though I’d never met him before. We shared every stories about Akira and I felt so much in pain when both Kouyou and I tried to recall more of our memories we had with Akira, and felt so much more helpless when we failed.

 

Imperfect, aren’t we?

 

I left Akira and Kouyou’s residence later that evening and before we parted, I said, “I was beyond lucky to have him as my friend and..and no one can replace him.” After that I couldn’t turn my head to look at my friend’s wife, who by now must be tearing up. I knew those words would hurt him so much as they did to me, but I believed he deserved to listen to them.

 

And I wonder, what did Akira feel during his last moments of life, was it really pride or ..pain? Those high-ranking people claimed that... it was the former.

 

But I don’t know.

 

Because the look on Akira’s face told me the other option.

 

And is it worth it? We fight and fight because we’re told to do so.

 

Told to do so.

 

And ‘those people’ try to reason by saying that it’s for the sake of your countries. Really?