A/N: so ya this was the 1st short story we did in creative writing. Still not completely satisfied with it but i'll hafta come back to it later. lemme know what you guys think

“It looks different in the light.” Those were the last words he had uttered for over an hour. The sun was out in all of its fury, beating down upon my shoulders. My shirt stuck uncomfortably to my back and my feet ached from standing in one place for too long. I tried shifting my weight back and forth as inconspicuously as possible but that did little to relieve the discomfort. Yet the waiting was not in vain; I knew if I was patient enough he would tell me the story I’d waited my whole life to hear: his story.

“We had been on the run for three weeks, and for those three weeks we learned a new kind of terror, the kind the army doesn’t prepare you for. It was the icy feeling of death breathing down your neck; the feeling of a thousand eyes crawling all over you, watching your every move. It was what kept you awake in the stillness of the night, seeing ghouls in the shadows...”

“You awake?” The tired voice cracked from thirst.

“Yeah.” The second man sat up, hunched ever so slightly so that he remained hidden behind the partially destroyed wall of what used to be a home.

“Good, here I found this.” The first voice, Lt. “Mike” Rowland threw his friend a stale piece of blackened bread. The second man, Officer “Danny” Thomas, hungrily ate the meager piece, not knowing when his next meal would be.

As Danny ate, Mike reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a photograph creased and worn by much use. He gazed into the eyes of his beautiful three month old girl and felt a constriction in his heart. The doctor, a family friend, had sent the picture along with a letter regretfully informing him that his wife of five years had died while giving birth to the only thing he had left in the world. The letter had arrived to him a month later. Since then he kept the picture close to him, seeking comfort from it. He clung to the faint hope of returning home to hold his baby for the first time with a fierce desperation, just as he clung to the picture in his hand.

Stick thin with hollow eyes, an air of fatigue had settled around each man like a blanket they couldn’t leave behind. They had covered hundreds of miles in the three weeks since the battle against the Germans had splintered their battalion, forcing each man to defend himself deep in the heart of enemy territory. Both men, equipped with a hunting knife, Carbine assault rifle, and two spare magazines, had thus far managed to avoid detection from the German scouting parties, but in the back of their mind they knew it was only a matter of time before their luck ran out.

It was two more fear filled days before their well of luck finally ran dry. A scouting party of twenty Germans had caught the scent of the two men’s trail and hunted them down mercilessly. Danny and Mike threw caution to the wind and moved constantly day and night, only stopping when the fire burning in their lungs became unbearable, yet they were unable to shake their hunters. The Germans had been clever; one scouting party drove the two men towards another party that lay in waiting, ready to spring upon their victims like foxes onto rabbits.

It was pitch black when the two soldiers stopped, their chests heaving up and down, trying to consume as much oxygen as possible. They stood so close they could feel each other’s sweat soaked uniforms. On a night this dark it was easy to become separated, so they stuck close, the barrel of their guns leading the way. Each of them only had about one, maybe one and half cartridges of ammo left after a brief skirmish with some Germans earlier that day

“Did you hear that?” The two men listened, ears straining to hear something that may or may not be there. Silence—then the snap of a twig, and another, and another; cold sweat dripped from both men as they tried to quiet their breathing. The fear that they had tried to keep at bay came creeping into their minds, slowly at first, then taking hold with a sudden ferocity. Adrenaline ran through the veins, hands shook with an unsteady finger on the trigger. They waited, each second an eternity of torture. Then the guns went off. A circle of lights flared in a circle around them, leaves flying as the bullets cut through the brush. The sound was deafening. At least twenty Germans had circled the weary soldiers, and at least twenty guns let loose in their general direction.

Danny and Mike hit the ground without firing a single round. Laying on the ground with their backs to each other they waited patiently for the flash of a gun before picking their shot. Each bullet had to count; both men knew what would happen once they ran out of ammo.

“Fuck, I’m dry!” Danny shouted above the din. With disgust, he threw his gun away as if it had failed him. In the same motion he bent into his boot and unsheathed his hunting knife, preparing for the last struggle, vowing not to go without a fight.

“Me too buddy. How many do you think we got?”

“Not enough.” Both men grew silent and soon after the gunshots died down.

“This is it,” Mike whispered through clenched teeth. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his picture, he didn’t need the light to see the face of his baby it was imprinted in his mind. He closed his eyes, those blue eyes, shining with innocent youth, and that quirky but cute smile, the same smile he had fell in love with on her mother; he saw it all. “When I say so, I want you to run.”

“Wha-?”

“Now!” Mike shoved himself up, immediately drawing the fire of the remaining Germans. In the dark Danny couldn’t see his friend’s body torn to pieces; couldn’t see the life drain from his eyes; couldn’t see the picture, now stained with blood, fall from a lifeless hand. As soon as his friend had given the word he had darted through a gap he’d noticed. As soon as he was through he ran like hell, not once looking back.

“…It had taken me a while to figure out he wasn’t following right behind me. It had been so dark; he didn’t even give me a chance. If only I had known…” His voice cracked from years of pent up emotions, years of having to look at me and see his best friend. I understood then what I had never understood before. All the drinking, the bouts of depression, and all the screams at night—it all made since now. He had returned home to find his friend’s daughter an orphan and had taken her in, and in doing so he was forced to silently relive that day over and over again for sixteen years.

I looked down at the photograph clutched in my hand. He had given it to me earlier that morning along with a quick “Happy birthday.” I didn’t understand the gift then, but I did now. Thank you.