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Look What the War Did

I remember the day he told me he had made his decision. “I’m going to enlist,” he said, straightening the ball cap resting on his head.

He seemed so sure, so serious. It made me want to cry.

Honestly, I didn’t want him to join the army. I wanted him to stay the same cheery, sports fanatic that I had known and loved. But when he spoke, the words came easily, and I knew then that there was no way to change his mind.

That was the day he told me he loved me, and I could actually see it in his eyes.

Just a week or so ago, my Michael came back. He seemed so different… not only in his personality, but in his appearance as well. His eyes didn’t light up with the same electric blue I always adored. His hair was shaven close to his head. Even the expression on his face, though a happy one, was weak and stressed.

I wanted to burst into tears.

But I kept myself strong. I smiled, running up to greet him. I hugged him, and he hugged me back. We kissed. But there was something more that I knew had changed.

The drive back to our house was one of awkward silence. There was so much I wanted to tell him, and yet… I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t form the words, it seemed. He didn’t speak, either.

Even as we pulled into the driveway, very few words had been spoken.

Later on that week, the two of us went to the mall for a while. There was construction going on outside; a new wing to the building. The noise was pretty loud, especially when you neared the west door.

Everything was fine. I have to admit I was happy to be out of the house. The past couple of days had been difficult. I felt like I hardly knew Michael anymore. That’s especially hard when you’ve known him practicly all your life.

And as we neared the west door, things got harder. The loud thuds and booms of the various yellow machines littering the lawn outside echoed into the room. Michael’s eyes grew wide, and as I looked at him, I could see the fear in them.

There was a short pause, then Michael jumped toward the tile planter and ducked down behind it. His head jerked left and right quickly, cautiously.

I immediately ran over to him, my heart beating faster in my chest. “Michael?” I whispered worriedly. “Michael, are you alright-“ Michael reached up and grabbed my arm, pulling me down beside him.

I fell to my knees, just staring at him. There was nothing more that I could do. He still seemed to be surveying the area, as if he was in a battle.

I cried, then.

He left again, and it pained me to see him go. My house is silent. I write in a blank notebook, trying to get rid of all the emotions filling me. But it doesn’t help. I’m afraid I might burst.

Look, look what the war did. It scares me everytime I look at Michael. I can still see it in his eyes. The fear, the pain. If war does this to a person, then why does it continue? Are we all really stupid enough to ignore the things that happen? Before, between, and after.

We’re all the same, aren’t we? Maybe not in personality, or appearance, or country… but we’re all human beings. No one, and I mean no one deserves to die. No one deserves the torture war brings.

Why can’t it just… end?

Fiction. Though one of the events, I recall being told, happened to a friend's brother.

p.s. i love your sig....so true....i gotta take it lol.... mrgreen