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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: War & Peace
- Published: 09/11/2013
Follow Me
Born 1996, F, from California, United StatesFour months. That’s how long I’ve been stationed in Iraq. I never imagined I would be in the army, never really thought about it I guess. My Dad kept telling me “the army makes you tough”, my friends even said “chicks dig army guys”. That was cool I guess, but I had always seen myself going on to bigger and better things. My senior class did too; next to my yearbook photo it said: Joshua Fonseca, where we see him in ten years: a successful doctor living on the coast with a loving family. Yeah, right. Little do they know that five years after graduation I would be lying in a dusty cot, men on both sides of me, boots on my feet, and a dog tag around my neck. It’s been easy so far, that is until my little brother decided that he would enlist with me.
Michael had always been like that, doing things just because I was doing them. He always had to do whatever he thought would make me think he was better. In his mind if he followed me and did exactly what I did, he could be more like me. That’s what worried me when he enlisted in the army with me. Turns out I had every right to be worried. My mind flashed back to the time when I was seven, he had just turned four. Mom would hold our hands as we walked down the street to the neighborhood park, we would take turns on the swings while the other ones climbed up and down on the slide. There were always the same kids playing there on the weekends, and the same ice cream truck that would pull up next to the sidewalk and play the lyric-less tune that seemed to beckon kids from miles away.
I would always get strawberry, Mikey got chocolate and the three of us would sit on the curb and eat our ice cream cones, counting how many cars went by and announcing what color they were as they sped past us. One time when we were finished with our cones I challenged Michael to a race. Of course he accepted the challenge and we took off running, I still remember the wind blowing through my hair, I even remember what my footsteps sounded like as my tennis shoes pounded against the soft grass. I reached the big tree almost a minute before he had, but we both made it there.
“I’m gonna climb up this tree.” I announced proudly to Michael.
“Is it dangerous?” He asked, eying its tall branches.
“Maybe for you.” I laughed. “But I can do anything.”
“I can do anything too!” He insisted as I climbed up the tree with ease before jumping down and landing gracefully on my tiny feet. “I’m gonna do it.” He announced stubbornly.
I guess I should have stopped him, but maybe I wanted to see if he could actually do it, if he was just as good as I was at climbing trees. The next thing I remember is watching Michael’s foot slip and his small body fall to the ground, landing on his arm and crying for Mom. I got mad at him for trying to do it. I was mad that he wanted to be like me, I was older, I was better at climbing trees. He was still a baby. No one thought of him as anything else, he was always baby Michael.
While my senior classmates saw me becoming a doctor and going on to do big things, they also looked up to me as their star quarterback. I had the best of both worlds. I was smart and athletic, I could do anything. Michael on the other hand is the brains of the family. He couldn’t tell you anything about cars, and he barely understood football. I guess that was the biggest difference between Michael and me, he was all brains, while I was brains and muscle. He was always well mannered, while I tended to have a problem controlling my temper.
I had never let anyone see me cry until that day that Michael and I joined forces to defend our country. I had never thought of what could possibly happen. I forced myself not to think of the worst case scenario; but I wish I had, maybe I would have been more prepared for what I had to witness that day. My whole world froze and my heart stopped beating as I heard the gunshots fire and the bullets speed over my head. I saw the whole thing, I heard the single gunshot, almost like my ears prohibited me from hearing anything else but that single gun that shot my baby brother. A sudden look of panic and shock flooded his face as he hit the ground, the same look that I saw when he fell trying to climb that tree what seemed like so long ago. In that very instant I felt guilty; guilty that I let him climb that stupid tree, that I always made him feel inferior to me, that I let him follow me to the army. Why didn’t I just talk him out of it? Running to him, I hit my knees and laid his head in my lap. But it was too late for goodbyes.
His body looked so small, so fragile as he lay in my lap. I kept looking over at his chest, putting my ear to his nose; but no matter what I did I could never hear him breathing. That was an eerie feeling, to know that he wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t my brother anymore, just a lifeless soldier shot out of this world forever.
After that I became your typical military drunk. I would drink every night, and wake up every morning feeling worse than the last. It was my fault, there was nothing else to it, it was my fault. If I hadn’t enlisted, he would still be here, we would be sitting on the couch at home and in two weeks he would have just turned twenty. He had so much to live for, so much he hadn’t experienced yet.
My Mother had raised us to be devout Catholics; although I hadn’t been living the faith very well lately, I figured I might as well try to go back to the Church, or what we had available. Under a small tent there was an altar with a single host on its surface. I knelt down to pray and ask God what I was supposed to do with my life now that my brother was gone. I also asked him to forgive me for my sins and if it was his will to still allow me to enter into his kingdom. That very same moment I heard voices outside, and people screaming. I heard someone say something about a bomb. When I stood up to see what was happening I heard the explosion and that’s when everything went dark and I saw my little brother again.
Follow Me(Taylor Menezes)
Four months. That’s how long I’ve been stationed in Iraq. I never imagined I would be in the army, never really thought about it I guess. My Dad kept telling me “the army makes you tough”, my friends even said “chicks dig army guys”. That was cool I guess, but I had always seen myself going on to bigger and better things. My senior class did too; next to my yearbook photo it said: Joshua Fonseca, where we see him in ten years: a successful doctor living on the coast with a loving family. Yeah, right. Little do they know that five years after graduation I would be lying in a dusty cot, men on both sides of me, boots on my feet, and a dog tag around my neck. It’s been easy so far, that is until my little brother decided that he would enlist with me.
Michael had always been like that, doing things just because I was doing them. He always had to do whatever he thought would make me think he was better. In his mind if he followed me and did exactly what I did, he could be more like me. That’s what worried me when he enlisted in the army with me. Turns out I had every right to be worried. My mind flashed back to the time when I was seven, he had just turned four. Mom would hold our hands as we walked down the street to the neighborhood park, we would take turns on the swings while the other ones climbed up and down on the slide. There were always the same kids playing there on the weekends, and the same ice cream truck that would pull up next to the sidewalk and play the lyric-less tune that seemed to beckon kids from miles away.
I would always get strawberry, Mikey got chocolate and the three of us would sit on the curb and eat our ice cream cones, counting how many cars went by and announcing what color they were as they sped past us. One time when we were finished with our cones I challenged Michael to a race. Of course he accepted the challenge and we took off running, I still remember the wind blowing through my hair, I even remember what my footsteps sounded like as my tennis shoes pounded against the soft grass. I reached the big tree almost a minute before he had, but we both made it there.
“I’m gonna climb up this tree.” I announced proudly to Michael.
“Is it dangerous?” He asked, eying its tall branches.
“Maybe for you.” I laughed. “But I can do anything.”
“I can do anything too!” He insisted as I climbed up the tree with ease before jumping down and landing gracefully on my tiny feet. “I’m gonna do it.” He announced stubbornly.
I guess I should have stopped him, but maybe I wanted to see if he could actually do it, if he was just as good as I was at climbing trees. The next thing I remember is watching Michael’s foot slip and his small body fall to the ground, landing on his arm and crying for Mom. I got mad at him for trying to do it. I was mad that he wanted to be like me, I was older, I was better at climbing trees. He was still a baby. No one thought of him as anything else, he was always baby Michael.
While my senior classmates saw me becoming a doctor and going on to do big things, they also looked up to me as their star quarterback. I had the best of both worlds. I was smart and athletic, I could do anything. Michael on the other hand is the brains of the family. He couldn’t tell you anything about cars, and he barely understood football. I guess that was the biggest difference between Michael and me, he was all brains, while I was brains and muscle. He was always well mannered, while I tended to have a problem controlling my temper.
I had never let anyone see me cry until that day that Michael and I joined forces to defend our country. I had never thought of what could possibly happen. I forced myself not to think of the worst case scenario; but I wish I had, maybe I would have been more prepared for what I had to witness that day. My whole world froze and my heart stopped beating as I heard the gunshots fire and the bullets speed over my head. I saw the whole thing, I heard the single gunshot, almost like my ears prohibited me from hearing anything else but that single gun that shot my baby brother. A sudden look of panic and shock flooded his face as he hit the ground, the same look that I saw when he fell trying to climb that tree what seemed like so long ago. In that very instant I felt guilty; guilty that I let him climb that stupid tree, that I always made him feel inferior to me, that I let him follow me to the army. Why didn’t I just talk him out of it? Running to him, I hit my knees and laid his head in my lap. But it was too late for goodbyes.
His body looked so small, so fragile as he lay in my lap. I kept looking over at his chest, putting my ear to his nose; but no matter what I did I could never hear him breathing. That was an eerie feeling, to know that he wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t my brother anymore, just a lifeless soldier shot out of this world forever.
After that I became your typical military drunk. I would drink every night, and wake up every morning feeling worse than the last. It was my fault, there was nothing else to it, it was my fault. If I hadn’t enlisted, he would still be here, we would be sitting on the couch at home and in two weeks he would have just turned twenty. He had so much to live for, so much he hadn’t experienced yet.
My Mother had raised us to be devout Catholics; although I hadn’t been living the faith very well lately, I figured I might as well try to go back to the Church, or what we had available. Under a small tent there was an altar with a single host on its surface. I knelt down to pray and ask God what I was supposed to do with my life now that my brother was gone. I also asked him to forgive me for my sins and if it was his will to still allow me to enter into his kingdom. That very same moment I heard voices outside, and people screaming. I heard someone say something about a bomb. When I stood up to see what was happening I heard the explosion and that’s when everything went dark and I saw my little brother again.
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