Short Story

Author's Note: I really enjoyed writing this short story. My goal was to take a very happy moment, and turn it very tragic. Also, I wanted to demonstrate that no matter what, we are never safe, and our life can be taken from us at any time.

It’s been years since setting foot on American soil. Finally, he’s home, home in this country of freedom, this country of peace, this country of love. He thought of the faces, the faces of his family, his family that he hasn’t talked to since his departure to fight for the freedom of his country. Thinking about reuniting with the ones he loves, his emotions poured out of his body. Tears of pure joy dripped down his face, rolled down his cheek, and fell gently to the soft, warm ground.

After a few minutes of switching thoughts back and forth between the horrors of the past two years and the joys to come in the near future, he got in his car and headed for home. The memories of war once again come into mind. Thinking back he remembers it all: the gunfire, the explosions, the blood, and worst of all the presence of death. “No, it didn’t happen. None of it. I didn’t kill anybody, I didn’t watch my friends die, and I didn’t see blood pour out of the bodies of innocent people.” He spoke to himself, whispering, whispering it to himself; but in his mind was a strange sense of uncertainty that frightened him. The truth he knew, but he acted as if he didn’t. He ensured himself that he just went over seas for a vacation. By keeping these memories out of his head he was not only able to survive life, but he was able to actually enjoy it.

Highly anticipating the surprise that he would deliver as he walked in the front door, he continued to get more and more excited as he got closer and closer. In his mind he began to imagine the reactions. How happy mom would be, to know that her boy was safe and free from danger, and how proud dad would be, to know that his son successfully served for their country with bravery and courage. Lastly, he thought of little sis’. He thought back to how much she looked up on him, and how much she appreciated the precious, loving care that he used to give her every day. Every single day, from start to finish. Oh, how he would love to feel her soft cheeks again, or just hear her little giggle. The warming sensation of going home continued to grow, and this time he didn’t allow it to get interrupted by awful memories of war, this time the memories of war seemed as if they had escaped his mind.

Night had set eerie and dark, exceedingly eerie and dark, when he turned off from the main State Highway and drove up the familiar country road, where the dim and lightly-lit house appeared slightly through the murky night sky. His house became more visible from the headlights of an oncoming truck. Suddenly, the house was hidden in the darkness of the night once again as the truck’s headlights sped onto the same section of pavement as the headlights of his little car.

Looking up he sees the front of a truck heading right in his direction. As the truck comes at him, he looks around. One last time he looks for any sight of his house that he wants so badly to see one last time, but his eyes get lost in the pitch black of the night, and then his vision gets blocked by the grill of the truck that is now crushing through the hood of his car. Slowly, as he flies and twists through the air he begins to remember things again,-- the faces of his family, their great memories, the countless laughs, and his house. However, he soon loses these memories. He suddenly can’t remember the faces that he hasn’t seen in so long, and he can’t remember the fun things they used to do. It seems as if he can faintly hear the laugh of little sis’ when he used to tickle her tummy, except it seems to be more of an evil chuckle. Everything seems to be almost taunting him. Everything he knows, everything he loves, is so close, but just out of grasp. After what felt like an eternity, the car smashes back to the ground.

Right there, just feet away from his house he lays on the road. As the blood pours out of his body, so does one last tear. The tear rushes down the dirty, bloody side of his face, and splashes onto the cold, hard road. Death overtakes him, and simultaneously blood from the drunk truck driver in denial surrounds the body of the young hero, who survived the danger of war, but died in the safety of home.

Mimic Lines from “To Build a Fire” by Jack London

1.) “He spoke to the dog, calling, calling it to him; but in his voice was a strange note of fear that frightened the animal.”

2.) “Day had broken cold and gray, exceedingly cold an gray, when the man turned aside from the main Yukon trail and climbed the high earth-bank, where a dim and little-travelled trail led eastward through the fat spruce timberland.”

3.) “Slowly, as he ploughed and floundered through the snow, he began to see things again—the banks of the creek, the old timber-jams, the leafless aspens, and the sky.”