NOW

I'm on the balcony listening to some very expressionistic music, I like to watch myself die every now and then. The look on my face is peaceful and that comforts me. I do a quick back and forth between that moment and running through the moist lawn in front of my old house when I was just a child. It still makes me grin when I see my stubby, little legs run as fast as they can with that blissful smile on my face right before I trip and fall into the soft bed of wet grass blades. If only every moment were as defining as these two.

I sigh heavily and stand up out of my chair, grabbing the cold, black metal railing for support. I lean over it and glance around at the scenery in small hopes that there might be something interesting to temporarily steal my attention. There are a few birds and a squirrel hopping along the power poles. What it would be like to be either of them, to see with such small eyes and only live to fill a few, basic desires. Sure, the gift of sentience is a precious one, but every now and then I can't help but be bothered by it. How much easier would it be if all I had to do was eat, sleep, reproduce, and live to see another day? I ponder the question and the ironic parallels to my life currently.

After growing tired of the circular logic, I grab my coffee and walk back inside. It's either too late at night or too early in the morning depending on how you like to perceive the day. With my work schedule the way it is, I've become well acquainted with this eerie, silent twilight -- too late for the party crowd to still be conscious and too early for the nine-to-fivers to start their hustle and bustle. I robotically move the coffee cup up to my lips and take another sip; I should've realized that it had gone cold by now, but I assume part of me didn't care.

Down in the apartment garage, I hear the breaking echo of my car horn as I unlock it. The familiar musk of aging interior upholstery sends me to my days in high school; instantly, I'm in the back seat with the first girl whose shirt I ever got up. My hands feel her soft breasts and her eyes venture deep into my thoughts and desires. The sound of the engine starting snaps me back to the front seat and I exhale a soft breath of longing that I didn't know I was holding. The drive to work is empty and mundane, no one on the roads at this hour. I swing by the one coffee shop I know is open and grab a Shot in the Dark from a teenager who looks as far away as the memory I felt in the garage.

I decide to project through my day and see what uninteresting events will unfold, I'm not in the mood for surprises today. We'll get another big order in and Lois will go on about how her son won his soccer game yesterday; Nathan will insist that we get reports compiled for our individual projects and that we should stop projecting our days so we have a little excitement and mystery to look forward to. I laugh to myself about the irony of his statement, not projecting so we have something to look forward to. He will recommend we all try the product, he swears by it. I, on the other hand, think it's unnatural; why would you want to give up your sense of time? Plus, it always gives me a wicked headache. Nathan always asks us, "Would you buy a product from someone who didn't use it themselves?" I know a pregnancy test works, but I don't ask the store clerk to piss on it to prove it to me. Ass.

I spin in my swivel chair and think about the time I projected to my wedding day, thinking this of course throws me right into that tux; I can smell all the wet, fresh-cut roses and lilies -- they're her favorite -- around me while my groomsmen are pretending to know how to make me look good.

"Tighten your belt up a bit, dude." Taylor points out.

"Yeah, and straighten your tie, it's all jacked up." Suggests John.

"Shut up, you said that 5 minutes ago when I adjusted it last." I take a step back, straighten my hair, and look in the full body mirror with them behind me, "Do I look good?"

"Yeah."

"Totally."

"Perfect."

"Nice ass."

"Shut up, Taylor." I smirk. "Good enough to marry?"

"Mehhhh."

"Welll.."

"Ah, go to hell, all of you." I straighten my tie when John looks away and take one last big breath. "Alright, let's do this." The wedding music floods my ears as the ushers open up the door to the outdoor reception hall; it's beautiful, classical music echoing off of the tall, majestic pines that line the perimeter. There are blood red, gold, and ivory ribbons draped from Venetian columns on the outside of the rows of chairs; all the faces of the people are aimed back at me. My memory only recalls some of them, others I haven't met yet, but apparently will play large enough of a role in my life that I will invite them to my own wedding. As I walk to the front where the Bishop is standing, I see my mother sitting there, gorgeous as always; it's as though she has some mystical field around her that wards off the clutching hands of Father Time. My dad has passed away by this time, but I still feel him there.

I stand and wait, as anxious as the whole of the audience combined, and then, there she is, like a candle floating through a window and illuminating the room. Her steps seem so light, they wouldn't even crush the soft pedals the flower girl is sprinkling in front of her. With each step she takes, my breath gets shorter and shorter and shorter. There is music pounding in my brain, symphonies and oceans crashing up against either side of my head. She never takes her eyes off me, as though I am the only other person there, as though we could be two children in a forest pretending to get married under a tree that we've drawn a bishop on and it would be the same, as though I am the only thing in the whole universe she cares for and everything else could turn to dust, but this moment, that we share, this tiny, rapturous moment is ours and no one can take it from us.

Everything the bishop says is a blur as I stare at her, and then, "Do you James Anderson, take..."

And that's where I stop. I don't want to know her name; I know if I do, then I'll jerk every time I hear someone say it in a coffee shop, every time an order goes up in a fast food restaurant, every time a patient is called in a waiting room. I just can't handle that. It's bad enough that I already know what her face looks like; if I ever see it, I'm going to run as fast as I can away from it. I can't do that. I just can't.

"James. ...JAMES!" Nathan shouts.

"What? God, you don't have to yell. I was..."

"You were... what? Projecting again?" He scoffs. "We can't keep going over this, James, I'm making you take the pill. We have big shipment coming in today and you know I need those reports." He pauses as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "That goes for you too, Lois."

"Damn." Lois whispers.

"Alright, fine, I'll take the stupid pills." I concede, it's no use arguing with him about this.

"They're not stupid. They're efficient, they help you get things done," he's doing his sales-pitch thing to me again, I hate it so bad, "you don't spend all your time living in the past or the future, you spend it right HERE and right NOW!" He stamps on the floor and looks at me with a very serious face. I return his stare with a look that says, "Are we done here?" He hands me the pills, I take two and choke them down with my luke-warm coffee. "It'll give you something to look forward to." I swivel back around to my desk and start thinking of where to begin.

"Ahem?..." I swivel back around to find Nathan still standing there. "Tongue..." For a second I'm confused, then, when I realize what he wants me to do, I feel as ridiculous as a child who doesn't want to take their vitamins. "Tongue!" I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out, making a depressing "Ahhh" sound while doing so. "Good. Back to work then." He exclaims as he walks off. "That means no more games Lois!"

Lois closes out her Solitaire game. "Damn"

At 6 AM we get our big shipment. The draft of the morning air comes down the hall from the warehouse and makes my feet cold. "If this product's selling as well as we say it is, you'd think we could afford a better heating system." I joke semi-sarcastically. Lois giggles a little bit then starts to talk about her son's soccer game. Go Tommy. Hooray. And so on. And so on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day drifts by and I yawn as I try to contemplate what I did in the day, but the drugs have made everything fuzzy. "Let's see I... Lois, did I get my reports done?"

"Yep, sure did. And you also told Nate where he can stick 'em when you gave 'em to him. Are you just having one of those days?" Lois asks kindly.

"Must be. It's just every time I take those things..."

"Mm, say no more, I know the feeling. That's why I just keep to myself and play my solitaire." She turns back around as I'm stroking my temples and trying to think about what I will eat for my lunch/dinner when I get home, but nothing comes, it just hurts my head more, like there's someone trying to push a screwdriver through the front of my skull. The clock reads 1:32 PM.

"I know it's not 2, but I'm getting outta here. I'll see you tomorrow." I say as I stand up and grab my coat.

"No you won't. Tomorrow's Fridee." She replies, it catches me that she always says 'Fridee' instead of 'Friday.' God, that's annoying.

"Well, in either case, see you next time we're both here. Enjoy yourself." I give a lazy wave as I shuffle down the hall. I nod to the old security guard as I exit the building; who the hell is he gonna protect if someone ever tries to rob us? HA! I laugh to myself at the mental imagery of Bruce standing there all wobbly with his gun pointed at the burglar, he'd probably collapse of a heart attack before the thief could get a shot off. He's probably looked ahead and seen that nothing's going to happen to him so he feels safe, but how good is that? To know that nothing is ever going to happen to you?

The afternoon air is crisp and cool, I tuck my neck and chin into my coat as I approach my car. The sun has heated the steering wheel and seat which feels nice. I turn on the radio and listen to what is now being called "Classics" which is ridiculous to me. "I remember when this song came OUT! Tsh! I was a senior in high school. That was only... Well, I guess it has been a while."

On my way home, I drive past the park where I will supposedly meet the woman I'm going to marry one day. I usually jump right to that first encounter, but the drugs are blocking it out. Somehow I'm able to at least envision the scene; it's summertime and the park's grass is glowing fluorescent green from the strong sunlight; everything is bright like when you first open your eyes in the morning. I remember deciding to make the most of this day and go running. A few more details drift up, I'm making a few laps around the park and nodding at the people running faster than me; I'm not the best runner and I'm content with that. I remember children playing on the brightly-colored jungle-gym, they're giggling and smiling and squirting each other with water guns; it puts a smile on my face and for what feels like the first time in a long time, I'm content with the world. In an instant, I'm jerked through the fuzziness and into the scene.

I decide to take a water break when I finish the lap, seeing all those streams of water made me extremely thirsty. I go to grab the knob that controls the water spout, but then I see her reaching for it too and stop.

"Oh no, you go ahead." We say in unison, then pause, then laugh.

"No really, you go ahead, I'll hold it for you." I say, trying to be chivalrous. She pulls her long, brown hair aside and positions her delicate cherry lips close to the fountain, I catch myself staring at them and not turning the knob so I quickly turn it and a hard stream squirts right up her nose and hits her eyes. She starts to squeal and put her hands out in front of her. I let go of the knob as though it were hot iron. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" I shout, feeling like I had just spilled ink on a priceless painting. She stands there for a second flicking the water off her hands and wiping it off her face. Then she looks at me, and I remember those eyes, though I haven't seem them yet, I remember them.

"Oh you will be." She says, grabbing the bucket that had been placed under a leaky pipe by the fountain and was full of mud and cigarette butts. I don't even have time to process her statement before she starts chasing me and I start running away.

"Don't do it, that's GROSS!" I scream.

"This is the only fair thing to do! Quit running away like a girl!!" She yells back. I criss-cross across the park, dodging small children, jumping over soccer balls, and ninja-spinning around family pets until I hit a wet spot and fall right into the wet grass blades. I look up in terror as she smiles and pours the whole thing all over my chest. "There, now we're even." She says with finality. I grab her foot from under her and bring her crashing down to the soft grass then slide up next her and look into her inquisitively. Before I can say anything, she kisses me gently, quickly. "No, now we're even." She says with a sly smile. And for an instant, it's like we're the only two people in the park, the only two people in the whole universe, and the only thing that matters is that we have this moment.

"Who are you?" I ask in awe.

"I'm me, but that probably doesn't mean much to you. If you're asking what my name is, it's..."

I click the garage door opener as I pull into my apartment complex, it's amazing that I'm able to project with that stuff still in my system, let alone drive all the way home while projecting, that's a skill that requires practice.

My head is throbbing as I climb the stairs to 6th floor. I just want to get to my apartment and take a nap. I haven't slept in days and my body is definitely reminding me of it. I throw my jacket onto one of the 4 chairs around my dinner table that rarely ever gets used then throw myself onto the couch. For some reason, though I can't explain it, I always sleep better when I'm on the couch. Of course, I typically spend most nights in my bed because that's normal, but if I ever need a good nap, the couch is the place to be.

I stare up at the dark ceiling, the blinds are closed, they're always closed. I wonder what I will dream about, that's the one thing I can never project, that I don't need stupid pills for. My eyelids feel swollen and heavy so I allow them to close. Now it's just me and you, thoughts. I let myself sink into the couch and dissipate into the dreamwaters where everything is calm. There is no light, but there is no need for light. There is no sound but I know what everything is trying to say. My dreambody steps out of the water and is dry. I'm met with a tree that is perfectly symmetrical on all four sides, four main branches coming out of the large trunk and splitting in the same places on each one. There are golden apples hanging strategically throughout the tree, there are thin, yellow snakes with vicious fangs swirling around the largest apples, snapping and hissing in unison. The ground is cracked and grey like cold ash and feels gentle on my feet.

I want an apple, I'm starving, but I know that if I grab a small one, even a few small ones, it will not be enough. I have to outwit the snake. I circle around the tree to see if I can find a weak spot, but they're all the same, all watching me with their wicked, black pearl eyes. I walk close to the tree and feel its trunk, it's cold and feels like hard plastic; if I pull away at the bark, it falls off on all four sides. I figure that if I knock down one of the big apples, all four will come down and the snakes will have to break their unison to try an attack me. I break off a low-hanging branch and swing at the apple. The snakes hiss at me as a stern warning. I swing again at the apple and connect, all four of them fly in the exact same line down to the ground, all four snakes look at me as though I had just broken an ancient artifact. When the apple touches the ground, I am suddenly split into four me's, one in each corner, all moving in unison. We are all aware of each other and feel the same panic as the clever snake approaches; it knew this would happen. My first thought is to run away, but to where? I'm on an island and if I go in the water it will just catch up with me quicker. The fear of the being by the snake builds as it slithers toward me and I slowly back away. Then something very strange happens, my mind loses all fear and I see no point in running away and being bitten when I can just a easily jump toward it and share my last moments devouring the delicious apple. I snap and make a lunge toward the apple, grasping it with both arms and plunging my teeth into its tender, golden skin. The amber juices drip down the sides of my mouth as I moan and ravenously chew the fluorescent yellow flesh. The snake is temporarily stunned at my behavior, then shakes off its hesitation and takes equal pleasure in sinking its fangs into my bare shoulder blade. Go ahead snake, enjoy yourself, you'll get a good meal out of me.

I feel as though someone is shoving cotton in my ears and the silence I heard before is now muffled. My lips go cold but I continue to bite. My finger tips go numb but continue to grasp. My vision goes dark but there is nothing left to see. I feel as though I am on a giant blanket and the center is sinking rapidly under my weight. I am a falling kite. I am a pebble on the water. Several moments pass and then there is a sudden tightening of the blanket that held me and my speed forces me to rip right through it. There is vertigo, there is confusion, then, there is light. I hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. The wind is knocked out of me and it takes me a second to catch my breath. I sit up and try to get my bearings, I am on a narrow mountain road at nighttime. My eyes squint at the light that is now very close and very intense. I am able to quickly glimpse at the source and am instantly paralyzed.

"NO!!!"

I see her. Her eyes find mine and utter terror consumes her face. Time slows to the deadliest crawl. I am once again a frozen witness to this scene. She turns to see our 2 year old daughter in the car seat behind her. My hearts sinks. She turns back to me. Her body remains still, but I see her soul stretch out to me. She extends her hand and I reach out mine, she's crying. My god, why? Why does she have to die this way? Our fingers don't quite touch before she is pulled back in and she swerves to the right, sending the car careening out of control. It's skids hard and spins halfway around before hitting the railing and flipping over the edge.

"NOOOO!!!!! GOD DAMMIT!!!!!" I scream. I shiver. I gasp. I choke. "NOOOOO!!!! PLEASE!!" I collapse. Why this? Why do I always have to see this? I never should have looked this far. Everyone told me to stay close, I might not like what I see. Damn them. Of course I wouldn't listen. Damn everything.

I awake and I'm still crying, my pillow is damp with tears. What a bizarre dream. I try to shake it off, but it's no use. Whenever I see her die, the rest of my day is useless. I decide to make myself some coffee and go sit out on the porch. I've gone and slept through the whole day and now it's evening again. How did that dream take so long?

I get to see the sunset over the distant mountains, the clouds and lake are burning crimson and tangerine. Their glow ignites something in me and I think about what I did in my dream. Why did I not run away? Is my true nature to go after what I desire even if I know it's going to end in tragedy?

"Hmmm." I ponder to myself as the hot steam of my coffee kisses my nose and floats up past my eyes. I turn on some calm, expressionistic music and sink further into my chair and thoughts. Maybe tomorrow I will go to the park for a run. Maybe.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fatherland

Troop 132 sent out their 625th monthly report via an old backpack radio which rested inside a little hole in the dirt wall of the trench they called Home; it would be the 615th monthly report to go unresponded by Military Headquarters. Despite the gaping lack of appreciation for their unrelentingly heroic efforts from their superiors Troop 132's morale was always maintained. A few of the men had a beautiful little wife and a handful of kids waiting for them back home and the prospect of seeing them once again was more than enough to keep them going. For those who did not have a family of their own, the promise by FDR that they wouldn't have to worry about financial security or the woes of the Depression when they got back home kept their spirits high- mostly because they knew that if there's one thing the girls at shore loved it was a war hero with a full wallet.

With the report sent in expert detail as they always were, the men returned to their posts and awaited signs that the enemy was advancing. Private DeLome was in a tree perch 20 feet off the ground scanning the distance with a pair of badly-worn binoculars. As was typical, the sight was nothing more than the dreary landscape of the Hurtgen Forest. Private DeLome was the newest addition to the tightly-knit Troop 132, for this reason his induction had been slightly more severe than the group had exercised priorly. It involved regular beatings with one of the privates' old soccer cleats fashioned onto a long piece of scrap metal and deemed "daddy's foot" by the fraternizing privates. There were also brutal nightly assaults forcing him to perform sexual acts that his small town mind would never have thought took place in what he imagined was one of the few organizations this nation still took pride in.

As time passed the troop eventually lightened up on him and reassured his now-broken spirits that it was simply to test his will and strengthen their brotherhood; yet somehow Private Delome couldn't help but think that it was because they all had some form of mental damage. His thoughts drifted over these times and over his red headed sweetheart whom he hoped was still faithfully waiting for him as he blankly examined the open field in front of the tree line. For a moment he felt very distraught and alone, as if he would never escape this place and was damned to survey the Hurtgen Forest for the rest of his days. But as he felt himself paying less and less attention to the task at hand he quickly snapped back to attention remembering the harshly ingrained words of the boot camp Major General, "YOU are WORTHLESS! Every breath you take is a slap in the face to whatever god you think made you. It is my job to teach you idiots how to not get yourselves killed out there. If there's one thing you retards remember from this it will be to ALWAYS," he paused and looked them all in the eye, "always goddammit, always keep your guard up. The second you let it down, you'll get shot! And then what? You're dead; Dead and Worthless!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Second Lieutenant Marsh filtered through the notes he had taken while listening to the encrypted shortwave radio broadcast of regional enemy movement in the morning. He was the next highest ranking officer and the natural choice for the troop's new lead after their prior CO went mad and fled in the midst of their most heated battle. There was heavy gunfire and grenade explosions littering the field that night. The enemy had attacked them during Private DeLome's late night patrol; he had fallen asleep at his post. By the time the troops realized what had happened it was already too late. A strategically thrown grenade had left little to recognize one of the Hispanic privates. Few had time to get properly dressed before grabbing their rifles and firing point blank into the onslaught of imminent death. It was at this time that the men needed a leader the most and it was at this time that the men turned in terminal desperation and cried to their fleeing Commanding Officer to save them. The only response returned was a wild and hopeless scream "GOD SAVE THEM! GOD SAVE THEM!"

Without discernible reason the enemy began retreating the gruesome scene. Strewn about were bleeding, orphaned limbs and the half-nude and shrieking soldiers they once belonged to. As the night's cold slowly released its icy grip so fell the last tears and cries of the fallen soldiers. Lieutenant Marsh opened his eyes to what could have been purgatory as far as he could tell; it was hard for him to discern what was real and what was illusion since his consciousness was weak and varying in intensity. There were lightning flashes of the night's battle as he staggered across the ghostly field searching for any who remained.

By the time the first bird was singing its morning song everyone left was huddled together, defeated but not broken, resting their backs against the inside wall of the trench- "home". The Lieutenant searched desperately for something to say to his troops to lift their spirits. He stood and announced:

"I don't know what I can say," he looked at them all individually "I can't promise you that this war will be won; I can't promise you that you will all make it back to your families and homes. But I do promise this, I will never- NEVER leave your sides. So long as their is blood in my veins and gun in my hand I will fight for you and our country!" This little speech was often repeated in the minds of all of Troop 132, the Lieutenant's especially.

He ran this moment through his head as he reached the end of his enemy movement notes and whispered, "for you and our country." followed by what might have be perceived by some as a small sigh. Though it seemed in this context he was referring to someone other than his troops. He made a point of never letting much emotion escape in front of his men lest they doubt his rigidity; he knew the last thing they needed was another weak-kneed leader. If nothing else, the Lieutenant was an expert in pretending everything was under control.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Private Ortiz ran frantically through the forest, looking for something that only he knew was there. He had hid it there when they first arrived; it was his most valued possession and he couldn't risk the others finding it and making some manner of joke or game of it. His mother had given it to him as a very small child back in the outskirts of Mexico city.

"Keep this with you always, mijo; it will keep you safe. So long as you have this with you, I will be with you and no harm can come to you."

Shortly after this, Private Ortiz's mother was killed during a riot on the streets of Mexico City and he was left alone since his father had left them before he was born. The object he was searching for now was the only shred of family he had left and it seemed at the present time that he could not recall where it was buried; the frustration was driving him mad. "Where could it be?" he asked himself, "I remember putting it somewhere around .... here." An owl sitting in a tree branch observed the worn out scene and fluttered off in boredom and disappointment once again. What made this act of searching all the more frustrating was that Private Ortiz always felt as if he had already made this vain search a hundred times before.

Defeated, he rested against the strong trunk of an evergreen and started to cry. Pausing briefly to look around for others that might notice him but finding only the wretched, unforgiving body of the Hurtgen Forest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty yards away from the trench, deep in the field, lay Obergrenadier Gerhardt. He was on another one of his Hauptmann's secret missions to acquire the decrypted notes of the enemy's radio transmissions from their trench or as Obergrenadier Gerhardt preferred to call them "suicide missions." The reason these missions gained this title was because they often ended in the Obergrenadier running for cover after the enemy spotting him midfield. Why the Hauptmann never chose any of the Obergrenadiers or even the Grenadiers for these missions he did not know but he had suspicion that it might have been the aftereffect of an earlier battle in which he had made a fatal error with properly reassembling his rifle that morning which resulted in the loss of three of his comrades. He wondered why it would be justified if he were to be killed in the name of his fallen brethren. Would that somehow satisfy them in the afterlife? Are they watching my every move even now, waiting for me to be slaughtered in the pursuit of a pointless goal? There would be no poetic justice in that, just another dead body trapped forever in the soil of the field.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"ENEMY SPOTTED!" Private DeLome shouted from his perch. Instantly the troops quit their current task and assumed their battle positions. Second Lieutenant Marsh dropped the papers and grabbed his rifle as he started to run through the trench to where the bulk of the fire was commencing.

~~~~~~~~~~~

His tears having dried, Private Ortiz was sitting numb against the tree when he heard the call. He sat up without hesitation and headed back to the field. There was something very mechanical that took place when the word "enemy" was shouted out there he noticed; every emotion that had been felt was rushed away, every important thought was nil by comparison, and the only objective in mind was to end the life of whomever this "enemy" was.

Unfortunately for Obergrenadier Gerhardt the "enemy" in this case was him. Bullets were whizzing by his helmet and ricocheting off of nearby rocks as he crawled to cover. He felt a sharp pain in the back of his right thigh and shrieked in pain.

"Eine Hilfe hier!" he shouted in desperation to the Obergrenadiers that he hoped were still following him. He listened through the deafening gunfire for a response. "Eine Hilfe hier JETZT!!" He noticed several bushes moving behind him and then came a familiar whistle that let him know he was not alone. They started returning fire on those in and behind the trench, giving one of them time to dive over by the injured Obergrenadier. He began frantically mopping up the blood and trying feebly to bandage the wound. The soldier in the bushes signaled to the Unteroffizier in the trees across the field; it was his assignment to destroy the enemy's radio and any other vital equipment or information while they were distracted by the battle. He made his stealth advance toward the tree line and trench then stopped when he heard someone running nearby. He crouched behind a nearby shrub and squinted his eyes, scanning for the cause of this noise.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Private Ortiz was running as fast as he could toward the gunfire, paying little attention to his surroundings. He knew the Lieutenant would be upset with him for taking so long so he had no time to waste. As the tree line came into sight he heard an unfamiliar voice and turned to face it.

"Excuse me." was all he heard before a muffled shot and the feeling of a sharp sting in his throat. He looked down to see his own blood start to flow down his uniform and drip onto the forest floor; he tried to breath but found it impossible. As he fell to his knees a tall, pale skinned man emerged from a some shrubs and walked over to him.

"It is all for nothing, mine friend." said the man staring at him eye to eye. Private Ortiz looked away being nauseous with the dissatisfaction of his untimely death until his eye caught something impossible; the same owl as before was staring from a nearby tree and resting in its mouth was the golden chain with Santa Maria on the end of it. He wanted to scream at the owl to bring it to him; just to touch it one last time, to remember what life was once like but his efforts brought little more than pain and convulsions followed shortly by constricting darkness. The Unteroffizier looked up at the bird and shared a moment of familiar puzzlement but soon remembered his duty and continued on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"PAGE, WATCH THE FLANK! STEVENS, GRENADE THE BASTARDS ALREADY!" dirt sprayed in the Lieutenant's face as he attempted getting a better look at where the enemy lay. He glanced over to Private Stevens just as he was biting the pin out of the grenade like a starving man taking the first bite of a fresh apple; the Private took quick aim and then hurled the grenade as hard as he could.

Private DeLome had a bird's-eye view of the whole battle from the scope of his Springfield rifle. He shifted his sites to the trench right in time to see one of the privates throw a grenade at two poorly-sheltered enemies in the field. There was a little explosion followed by a distant rumble but he knew it was enough. "Bullseye!"

"Precisely." said a voice directly behind him. Before he had time to turn and face the voice there was a strong hand over his mouth and slicing knife against his throat. It was a painfully exquisite feeling to have all the air in his lungs escape through the fresh and bleeding slit in his throat. He felt like he was drowning for he could not get any air in his lungs and he could feel the blood pouring down his windpipe. The attacker said something inaudible to him because of the choking before climbing back down the tree.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Behalten Sie Druck darauf!" Obergrenadier Gerhardt followed the other soldier's instructions and kept pressure on the wound; he vainly tried not to stare at it and wonder what effect it would have on him should he make it out of this battle alive. His pondering, however, was cut short by a grenade that bounced within two feet of his of his already injured leg. He couldn't help but be mildly amused by the irony as he rolled away and muttered, "Scheisse."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now drunk with the taste of death in his veins, the Unteroffizier stalked through the forest and readied his Luger pistol. He had the enemy's Lieutenant in his sight; he wanted this to be perfect. Creeping slowly like a spider toward its helplessly trapped prey he replayed the glorious scene that was about to unfold in his head. The Lieutenant was in a rage and firing illogical amounts of bullets at the unrelenting enemy; it was very unusual of him to behave in a manner such as this and it was because of this that the Unteroffizier was able to creep up right behind him and thrust the zealous Luger into his back. "Surrender!" he exclaimed in an uncontrollably victorious tone. The Lieutenant turned his head and was filled with a hatred beyond defeat and disappointment; it was a pure loathing of everything in existence and non-existence.

"FUCK!!" cried the Lieutenant, "NO!! I'M NOT GOING BACK!!"

"You know the rules." the Unteroffizier replied fighting back a grin.

"No." he shook his head "No, we're not going back." He looked desperately through his moistened eyes at his enemy, "Please, we do not want to go back."

The Unteroffizier lowered his gun. "I do not make these rules. Now you must go back."

Lieutenant Marsh breathed a heavy, broken attempt at calming down then cupped his hands together around his mouth and shouted, "RETURN! RETURN!!"

Out on the forest floor Private Ortiz heard the call and reluctantly pulled himself up and started towards the place he knew all to well. "It is all for nothing." He whispered to himself. Private DeLome sighed hopelessly when he heard the familiar words; he pushed himself up and started climbing down the tree. The rest of the soldiers gathered their things and scuffled off to their spots where they had last known mortal existence then sank into the evening soil.

As Private DeLome passed his Lieutenant he gave him a look that was forlorn but appreciative; it seemed to say "If nothing else, thank you for at least never leaving." He felt the cold grip of unconsciousness and repetition as he approached the post where he had once so tragically fallen asleep. He made one last look around then took his rightful place in the ground.

"That leaves just you, Lieutenant." said the Unteroffizier looking around for exactness of procedure. Lieutenant Marsh nodded his head and extended a hand to him which the Unteroffizier could not help but be surprised by. After a moment's hesitation he accepted and shook it firmly and with a brief moment of symbiotic sympathy. He watched numbly as the Lieutenant made the walk back to his place of rest then, just as he had done so long ago, gathered up his troops and moved on.

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Troop 132 arose the next day and started on their 626th monthly report; part of them hoped it would not become their 616th report to go unresponded by Military Headquarters but better judgment assured them that, of course, it would be.