Author: t-me!
A figure moved across the bare earth that had recently been washed clean with rain. He was glad of that because although it made the going harder at least the smell was gone. He stopped and looked around at the large black birds flying around, gorging themselves. "It's the smell that's the worst" he said out loud to himself and continued on.
There were always wars. Each one probably seemed like a good idea at the time. Wars for land, wars for freedom, even wars because the people in charge were bored. There were long wars and short wars, though it could be argued that there was never really a short war. But the thing to remember was that they do end and then the sides were going to have to work out whatever got them to war in the first place.
A sound to his left broke though his thoughts and he looked around. "Help, Please." It looked like someone was still alive on this battlefield. "Where are you?" he called out "Can you move?" There was a small movement and the man went over. There was a young man, no, a young boy, struggling to move under a pile of corpses. It was hard to tell if they were enemies or friend with all the mud. "Help" he cried weakly. The man heaved the dead solders off the boy and helped him struggle to his feet. When he left go he almost collapsed again. "What's your name boy?"
"James"
"I bet you're hungry" the boy nodded, then looked around and shook his head.
"Come on. Let's get off this war zone and get some food into you"
A while later they were at the edge of the field and James was trying disparately not to look at it while eating a thin stew the man had cooked up. "It will be dark soon," said the man, noticing the boy's discomfort "you won't see it then."
"I think that's worse." James said quietly.
"How old are you anyway?" the man asked.
"I'm older then I look" James said defensively. The man just looked at him. Under that steady gaze James caved. It wasn't as though it mattered now anyway. "I lied when I signed up. I wanted to do my bit for my country"
"Ah, patriotism" the man nodded, understanding, "That's a real killer, that."
"Everyone else was going and my dad said it would make a man out of me"
"Or you'd die trying"
" but I never thought it would be like this," he continued, ignoring the interruption "I never thought there would be so many people dying. I mean, I knew people would die, I just never thought I'd see it or so much of it"
"No one ever does" the man said calmly, seeing the boy was getting hysterical. James just went back to eating the stew.
Soon the man got up and started to tidy. "It's getting dark now, we better get going." James looked nervous "We're not going though there are we?" he asked gesturing vaguely to the field behind him.
"Don't worry, your camp is over there" He replied, pointing in the opposite direction. Then there was nothing else to do but walk.
As it got darker James tried not to think of where he had woken up or what he had seen or what he had done. It wasn't working. He was so busy trying not to think that he didn't notice it getting completely dark until he tripped over something. He started to panic as he thought about what it could be he tripped on until a voice came out of the darkness "Are you all right back there?"
"Not really" He was ashamed about how high his voice sounded in his own ears. A lamp was lit and he sighed with relief as he saw it was a tree root that he had tripped on and not the arm of a dead solder. As he got up and brushed himself off he tried to get over his embarrassment.
"Who are you anyway?" he asked.
"Oh, just someone who was walking by"
"Walking by! During a war?!" James shouted shocked.
"Oh, it's over now"
"What?!"
"It's over. They're negotiating a peace treaty or something."
"So we won?"
"I don't know."
"But it's important. How can you know the war's over and not know who won."
"It's important to you but I've seen a few wars you know and it's always what happens after that counts"
"After?"
"Yes. For example, for all those people who died there is no after, or not, depending on what you believe."
"But we had to fight, what was being done was wrong. We made a difference. You can't say that's not important."
"It's important to you, I said that already. Besides you've made your 'difference' now what are you going to do?"
James thought about that. " Go home"
"And then?"
"Ummm."
"Exactly. It's all well and good to fight but you just have to remember there is always life after the war." He stopped walking "And here we are."
James looked up. " Hey," he said, turning around "you never told me who you ar…" He stopped. There was no one there.
A week later the men were nearly all gone home, James was among the last to leave. He was talking to a senior officer. He had told people what had happened but of course no one believed him. The trauma had made him hallucinate, they said, but they still wanted to hear the story. He had just finished it again to the officer. It had made him a little nervous telling it to a superior.
"The Old Man." The officer muttered when he had finished.
"What, sir?" asked James.
"The Old Man is what we called him," he was smiling "I've been in a few wars kid, and whenever one is over The Old Man comes and walks the battlefield."
"He's a ghost?!" James exclaimed.
"Oh, no." the officers smile grew wider "Definitely not a ghost, don't worry about that." "Then what is he?"
"A reminder"
James just looked puzzled so he explained.
"A reminder that there is life after war"