You Only Die Once

Chapter Three

After he walked away, I just stood there. He said I was in the right place, but I didn't see the Center. I started walking a bit, just to see if I could find it myself. My Oxford had an inky black stain on it, and my still hurt. I tried rotating it a bit, but I left off because I looked like a real moron. That guy seemed like a real bastard. He was smiling, but it was a real mean one, like the look your Ma gives you in front of your buddies, before she drags you away by your ear. I kept walking. I didn't have anything else to do. Besides, if I skipped, then I'd be sent off to the cooler. I didn't want that. It was awful in there. I once stole some cash from Ol' Jack's shop, and got sent there. It wasn't my fault. Ma was sick, and we didn't have the money to get her medicine. Jack said he didn't wanna have to rat me out, but he did anyway. I don't think he cared. He was just bein' considerate.

It felt real nice to be out walkin' on a day like this. You could almost feel time passing. A woman in a torn up dress was struggling with a screaming baby, while a bespectacled man tried his hardest to avoid them. Advertisements for war bonds, and job openings coated the front of shops. Our city was very covert about the war business, but it was extremely unpatriotic to ignore it entirely.
I finally found the Center sandwiched between a prostitution business and a bar. I figured that the two places had a pretty lucrative deal all worked out. It made sense.

I don't believe in prostitution. If I had the money, I would buy the place, and tell the workers: "I've bought your freedom. In exchange, I want you to remember something for me. Remember that people came here to escape reality. I'm not condoning their actions, but I want you to know that people escape reality because reality is worse than buying an illusion."

After I was registered, they gave me a couple of days to say my good-byes. I didn't have anyone I much wanted to say goodbye to, but apparently they thought I did. I tried to say goodbye to my Ma, but she didn't really say anything. Back then, it looked like she was crying, but it was probably just the light. I don't think she'd cry for me.
I'm not going to talk about the training either. What I am going to talk about is the first time I fought. That's what really matters.

April 6th, 1917
We declared war on Germany today. President Wilson wanted to " make the world safe for democracy."
March 1918
I've been sent to France to finally get in on the action. I was one of the first to go. Finally. No one wants to fight, but no one wants to wait forever, either. If the fighting don't kill ya, the waiting will. I could hear the sounds of people dying. We stacked their bodies up along the sides, so that we could keep digging. I imagined that nothing would really happen over here. I thought that no one would die. I thought we would win. We kind of did, but we paid the price of countless lives. This one guy in my group was the first to die. We were side by side, shooting at something we couldn't see, when he stiffened all of a sudden. I thought he had a gimp leg or something. A patch of red blossomed on his chest and forehead. I heard a dull clink. I figured out later that it was the sound of a bullet. Went right through him. Both of them. He slumped forward and curled in on himself. He grabbed at my hand. " Chris. I can't see. I can't see anything. I- I can't see you. Are you there? Chris? Is that you? I can't breathe. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts." He started calling out for his Ma, and I finally had to turn away. I kept hold of his hand though. I didn't know what else to do. I waited for a couple of minutes. Eventually, his grip loosened, and piss started running down his leg. After he let go of my hand, he sounded like he was still breathing. It scared the shit out of me. I retched a couple of times, but nothing came up. What I'm about to tell you next is something I'll regret for the rest of my life. I ran. I never looked back. I didn't even say goodbye. As I ran, I could still hear him calling me: "Chris. Chris. Chris..."