Casualty of War

The bombshells can be heard from the outside. The foreboding frightful explosions thundering across the war scape.  While I lay in my bunker bleeding from missing left leg, removed from the middle of the thigh down. As my desperate useless cries scream across the bunker to the other soldiers in pain, only, my screams eclipse theirs. The soldiers have already reached the bunker and my door is first.

I then hear the loud crashing and smashing as the enemy attempts to break my door, foreign words of blood lust and hatred heard shouted in command. I reach desperately for my pistol. Ready. The door breaks and my shots are the first to pierce skull and mind. As the soldiers lower their weapons in confusion and shock my body lies limp to the side, enemy ammo counts as high as they were before entering the room. The soldiers laugh to themselves uneasily, a casualty of war. Another sickeningly horrific sight burned into their minds.

AS the sound of shots ring through the bunker suggest conflict between enemy and friend, the death count has gone up, but the ammo count remains the same. The same horrific scene as the first room, the same image repeatedly burned into mind after mind. The same reaction; the same sorrowful scene.