Brothers in Arms

After you died, there wasn’t anything left to bury, not that we could even get it out. It has been quite a while since that day.

 

I had to burn your face into my mind.

 

I was determined not to let your memory die, but It was not your face, beheld by a smile, that I remembered.

 

My mind only lets me see you at the end.

 

But I try nonetheless.

 

“Think of his smile.” I said to myself.

I see the scorched ruin of his face, covered in dirt, burnt and lifeless.

 

“No! Think of his voice.”

I hear the searing screeches of pain ringing through the air as the sharpnel magles your skin: Ripping; tearing; hacking through your flesh.

 

“Think of his eyes.”

I see your glowing blue eyes, rich with immobile panic. My body scrambling desperately to reach you, My eyes lock with yours, unable to let go of those beautiful blue eyes.

 

“Think of his hair.”

I feel the blood dripping down the strands, staining what once was vibrant. Oozing red from a crack in the skull.

 

̈ ̈Think of his hands! ̈

I feel his shaking hands clinging to my arms. Trying in vain to cling to any life left in his dying body. 

 

̈ ̈Think of nothing!

I can’t think of anything because you were not nothing. I see it every day. One moment you were there with me; my best friend. The next you were a charred corpse.

 

I can’t remember what he was before he was nothing! All I can see is your face, scorched, ruined lifeless!