Broken Soldier

Irish ballad

My eyes shut tightly from the painfully vivid flashbacks. They never seem to go away. If I closed my eyes, I saw red. If I left them open, it gave my mind the power to replay what I have done. Trust me, I wish I could put a bullet in my brain. I know that it wouldn't work though, I've tried. My name is Hyland Buchanan Barnes, friends call me Bucky. I have done so many things in my life, that I wish I could take back. Oh, how I wish I could take it back. That's just not possible. It's to painful to talk about now, and I'm pretty sure you would all hate me. I know I do, everyday my head screams monster. The part I can tell you about my life, isn't much better than everything else in my life.

I grew up in Dublin, Ireland. With two very loving parents, James and Emily Barnes. They were the sweetest people you will ever meet in your entire life. I also had an older brother and younger sister. Matthew, whose older than me by two years. And little Mackenzie, whose four years younger than me. I would always call her Kenzie, while she called me Hyie. Yeah, stupid I know, but we were little at the time so it's okay. Sadly, I never got to truly know my parents or Kenzie. They died when I was seven years old.

That day, Matt and I spent the entire day with an old family friend. When we came home, everything was broken, and there they were. Cold and bloody. I swore on that day, I would find the person who did, and now I know. It was a cross-road demon. My parents were incredible hunters, but I'll get more into that later.

Anyway, after they died, we stayed with different family members throughout the years. Who were also hunters as well. Matt was always there for me though. He played the roll of dad, mom, brother, and best friend for me. I thought nothing was ever going to separate us. But, like every single person I've loved, I lost him. I was fifteen, and he was seventeen. We went on any normal hunt. Like usual, we split up to help speed up the hunt. There was one crucial point of information that we didn't know though. There were two werewolves that we were hunting. All that we knew, that there was one. He was trapped, and couldn't make it out. By the time I got there, it was too late. He had to suffer through that pain alone. That night, I drove alone for the first time in a long time. I hated every moment of it.

One thing that Matt always reminded me, was to never give up. No matter how hard life gets. You fall seven times, and you stand up eight. So, with his words of wisdom, I was able to graduate early from high school at sixteen. A week or two later, I enlisted in the marines. Which was always a dream of mine. I got in, and went to boot camp in Galway for a month. I "graduated at the top of the class", and got my letters a week later and ticket straight to Iraq.

I spent nine years in the marines, but that's all I can say for now. Now, in present day, I'm in America for the first time. It's amazing how different Americans are from Irish people. It's a nice different though. I've never been here, and the first thing I realized is, Americans have exotic accents.

It was close to midnight, when I pulled my 1964 Chevy Impala into a small lite up pub. Hopefully, I was somewhere in South Dakota. As I walked into the pub, it was mostly empty. Except for a couple booths, but as long as it wasn't full I would be fine. I sat at the counter, and waited for the waitress to come back around. As I waited, I pulled the jacket sleeve down as far as it could go.

"What can I get for you sweetie?" She asked, she had a hard southern accent I believe is what you call it.

"Just a bud light please." I requested. She was thrown off by my accent for a moment, but smiled and reached under the counter for my drink.

"Of course. That's some accent you got there hun. Where are you from?" She asked, pulling the cap off the drink.

"Dublin, Ireland. I have a family friend here in America that I need to see." I answered, taking a swig of the drink.