This first appeared in Word Riot
A Matter of Survival
by
Nathan Tyree
The first time you kill you tell yourself that it's only a matter of
survival. You say, softly so no one will hear, it was him or me. I had
no choice, you say. You look at the dead man's eyes (if you ever get
that close) and try not to imagine the light that should be there. You
try to think about the sand in your boots and how it is abrading your
sole. You try to focus on the itch at the back of your neck. Any small
annoyance will suffice. Anything will do as long as you don't have to
imagine the dead man smiling at his wife.
Your buddies have no
idea. They will slap you on the back and tell you how you have saved all
of them; tell you that you're some great fighting machine. All the
while you're trying to convince yourself that it was only a matter of
survival.
The second one is easier. You can grit your teeth and,
with a little concentration, block out the dead man's children who want
to weep and tear their clothes in your head. It was him or me, boys,
you'll say loudly enough for the others to hear this time.
By
the fourth or fifth you can't even see their faces any more. By the
seventh the dreams and night sweats have vanished. By the tenth you no
longer imagine the light that should be in your eyes. You tell jokes and
talk about women. Your buddies laugh and marvel that you are born again
hard. None of them suspect that there is something rotting inside of
you.
After the war, when you rotate back to the world, you
start to miss it. You can't sleep in your bed any more. It's too soft
and the room is too quiet. Sometimes you catch yourself measuring the
distance and the elevation between you and a stranger, calculating how
much to lead for the wind. It's then that you can feel the rifle in your
hands.
You don''t open up in the 7-11 with an Uzi. You don't
kill your best friend''s wife. You wouldn't do that even if you had a
best friend. Maybe you drink a little more than you used to. And maybe,
once in a while, you catch yourself with the cold end of your .45
against your temple. Even so, you think that mostly you've adjusted
well. You only wish that they would have warned you.
All through
basic they drilled it in hard: you could die over there. What they
never really made you understand was, you could kill too.
No comments:
Post a Comment