Disclaimer- I don't own the movie Saving Private Ryan but I love it!
The air is thick with bullets and bombs, either thrown or being thrown. The sound echos over and over, permenatly etched in my brain. I am not free from the sounds of gun shots or explosions. So many men have been lost, and many more are waiting to die because they can't take it anymore.
I am not one of those people. I fight for my country and I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
Those words echo again and again inside my head until I am screaming them. Over and over, it's the same thing. I don't want to die! I don't want to die! I don't want to die.
"Shaun! Shaun! Wake up!" A blonde army nurse wakes me up until I realize I am in an army hospital tent. "What happened?" I choke out with difficulty. "You were shot." I look down at my chest. A big gauze bandage sits square in the middle of my chest, red with the still oozing blood. "Shaun...there isn't much hope." The nurse says. I stare up at her, shocked. I'm going to die? She leaves to care for another paitent who still has hope. Obviously not me.
What about my brothers? And my mom? Will they be proud because I died fighting for my country or mad because I enlisted without my moms permission? I am never going to see their faces or hear their voices again.
All the time I had with them I took for granted.
I didn't realize I'd never see them again.
And James, little James. I never even said Goodbye to him. Now I wish so desperatly I had. When I had the chance I would've said a whole lot more to each of them.
Danny... I didn't say Goodbye to Danny either. Danny was already at war, and for all I knew dead.
I will never see my mom or any of my brothers again. I won't ever get the chance to tell them all I wanted to before I left.
Then it hits me, for real. I am going to die!
The nurse comes back with a fresh gauze bad and gingerly changes the red one. It dosn't do much good. The next one turns red almost instantly. I would cry, but it hurts too much. I can't even cry, god damn it! I can't even cry. I can't laugh, or breath, or talk without that dull pain stabbing at my stomach.
Why is this happening to me?
Why did I come to war?
Because Danny did?
Becaue I wanted to fight for my country?
Why did Danny go to war?
Why did we even go to war?
The questions swim around in my head, each without a positive answer. Questions that will never have an answer because I won't live long enough to give them answers.
The stabbing pain intencifyes, and then it goes black. One more question drifts across my mind.
Do they forgive me?
And then I fall into a never-ending sleep.