Soldier's Woe (standard:drama, 1972 words)
Author: A.M. Snead	Added: Sep 23 2002	Views/Reads: 3308/2341	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A soldier struggles to come to terms with the truth concerning an unspeakable act both he and his fellow soldiers committed. But he wonders if death is the only way to escape the guilt and shame.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

I can hear the panting of breath as someone hurries up the hill behind
me.  I know who it is without looking.  Closing my eyes, I silently 
will them to go away.  But Steven is not a man to be deterred.  He was 
the first of us to seek redemption for our unspeakable act.  He alone 
believed redemption could be found.  And now he is here and I know, 
before he speaks, what he will say. 

"Mark."  He leans over, his hands gripping his knees as he gasps for
breath.  "Mark, you must come with me." 

I don't open my eyes.  I don't acknowledge him.  Perhaps he is just a
voice in my head, just another voice to torment me.  I feel his hand 
clamp down on my shoulder and squeeze lightly.  It is a reassuring 
touch and it resonates hope, but it frightens me and I want to push it 
away.  But I can't.  I can't move. 

"Mark."  His voice is soft, lacking the despair I hear in the voices of
the others, and in my own voice.  I want my despair to be gone.  I want 
to feel what Steven is feeling.  But I'm terrified to cross that line 
and believe I can ever be free of this mental anguish.  I am so scared. 
Oh God, I am so very scared. 

"Mark, please, come with me." 

"I can't."  The words faint off my dry lips, barely a whisper in the
troubled night.  My chest is tight and my eyes damp with newly formed 
tears.  I want to die, I can't take this hurt anymore.  I want to beg 
for a forgiveness that I don't deserve, that I can never deserve.  "Go 
away."  I choke out, weeping quietly.  I am desperate for what Steven 
has found, but even if it were real...how could I accept it? 

"I cannot, Mark."  Steven squeezes my shoulder again.  "My brother in
arms, my friend, you must trust me.  You need not suffer this anguish 
any longer.  Come, see for yourself." 

I don't move.  I can't move.  Deep within my soul I know what it is he
wants me to see, and it frightens me beyond words.  I cannot look such 
a reality in the eyes, I cannot.  I think that such a truth would steal 
my life away, wither my soul.  I cannot do it. 

Steven is gone, but he will be back.  I will still be here when he
returns.  I can't move from this spot.  This spot where we did it.  As 
my arms hang slack at my sides, I can still feel the weight of the 
tools clutched in my hands.  I still feel the stickiness of the blood 
on my hands.  Blood that doesn't wash off.  Though my hands are 
scrubbed clean of all traces of filth, I can still feel the blood.  I 
see the tears, but they are not my own.  I misunderstood what those 
tears meant that night.  Now I know, and tonight it makes mine flow 
more steady. 

My eyes squeeze tight, forcing hot tears to cascade down my flushed
cheeks.  I am in torment as the images of that night snap through my 
head.  I don't want to see them, I don't want to remember.  I don't 
want to relive that night knowing what I know now.  But I am helpless.  
I am now the victim of those dark hours. 

Dizziness overwhelms me and I feel as if I'm falling, collapsing to the
earth, but I know I haven't moved.  In my mind I lay on my back and 
stare up at the unsettled sky, but what I see is not the night sky.  
What I hear is not the silence of the dark that surrounds me.  The 
chaos of that night, that fateful night, swarms over me and I am caught 
in its clutches once again.  But as I deliver the blows and the 
screaming of metal against metal explodes through my head, I understand 
what it is I'm doing, but I can't stop.  Steel against flesh, blood 
splattering my face, my hands.  Cries of the innocent.  Oh so innocent. 
 Then eyes watching me as I do it all over again.  Eyes filled with 
understanding and compassion.  This cannot be. 

"Mark, my brother."  A hand touches my shoulder, lightly, barely there. 
The voice so soft and quiet that I think it is Steven.  But it is not 
Steven.  Shame encompasses me and I drop to my face on the ground, 
covering my head with my arms. 

"Go away."  I beg desperately.  "Please don't look at me.  I-I don't
want to see what I've done." 

"Mark."  The voice is like a feather on the breeze, floating softly down
to gently caress my trembling body.  "Look at me, Mark." 

I convulse with a surge of weeping.  "I cannot."  I whisper. 

Steven is standing before me, kneeling, touching my shoulder.  "My
brother, you don't have to be afraid anymore." 

I resist as Steven urges me to my feet, but slowly I stand.  I cannot
raise my head, I cannot look him in the face.  I am so ashamed, so 
consumed with my own guilt, I cannot live this way.  I want to die. 

Fingertips touch my cheek, tingling my skin.  Against my own will, my
eyes slowly lift until I am looking into his.  The same eyes that 
stared back at me with compassion as I spit in his face, punched him 
and beat him.  The same eyes that watched me raise each steel spike 
into the air and drive it down through his flesh. 

I drop to my knees hard, clutching his feet, my desperate tears wetting
the hem of his garment.  I plead silently for his forgiveness but I 
can't form the words.  How can I ask for forgiveness of something so 
horrendous, so unspeakable? 

He lowers to his heels in front of me and raises my face to his.  Fresh
tears flow as he whispers, "Yours sins are forgiven you, Mark." 

A rush of warmth spreads through me, washing me clean as it goes,
stealing away my shame, my guilt, my hopelessness and leaving in its 
wake a sense of newness and life, a hope for tomorrow.  "My Savior, my 
God."  I weep. He smiles at me softly, this man, this same man that 
looked down upon his accusers and all those that vented at him 
hatefully, that looked down through history to everyone who would ever 
come against him viciously or turn away from him indifferently, and 
pleaded softly, Father, forgive them...for they know not what they do. 

~ The End ~ (or is it just the beginning? That will be your choice- make
it a good one) 


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