I can actually hear the silence. It's mind numbing. I'd call it torture if I hadn't already felt its true meaning on my own flesh. After all, war contains the most horrifying things a man can see or feel. After the ear-ringing sound of gunshot, I feel that I'm not quite where I am anymore; it doesn’t seem possible to go through the worst of all and not wake up sweating in the middle of the night and sigh from relief.  As the bullet hits my chest, and I fall to the ground, I can no longer think. It doesn’t seem appropriate to even try.

"He's been shot! I repeat, Corporal Edward has been shot!"

I hear Major Henry yelling into the communication device attached by a cable to the box of wires and other electronics Anderson has been carrying on his back the entire day.

I'm still on the ground. My arms rest beside me and my toes are twitching. The shoes I'm wearing have been worn out completely, no longer resembling the way they appeared when I bought them. Army combat boots were a privilege not every soldier got a chance to receive, so I brought to battlefield the best pair of footwear I owned.

The shoelaces are mostly torn, the soles scuffed and the only color the shoes now have is a sickening shade of pale grayish brown – the color of combat. I stare at my feet for a while, not sure what else to do, since I can no longer turn my head in any direction. My back seems warmer than the rest of my body, and I understand it is due to the red, thick puddle of blood forming on the ground where I'm lying. If I were to stay here all day, I'd drown in my very own pool of despair. I try to breathe, to remember what it feels like to do so – in case I will no longer need to.

I don't want to die, I suddenly hear my mind say to my heart. You might have no choice, the faint beating of my heart takes form as a reply. They are having a conversation regarding my life, and I have no say in it at all.

I feel an odd pain in my shoulders, and then understand its cause as soon as I am lifted up from the ground, now facing Major Henry. "Don't quit on us, Corporal," he demands, fury and fear forming the pigment of his eyes. "Help is on its way!" He drops me to the ground then hurries back to his station, now firing shots at the enemy, while shouting commands at the unwounded soldiers.

Blaring noise is all around now; gun shots from the rifles of my fellow soldiers, and the soft sound of the wind you don't get to hear while you fight. It almost seems peaceful, to simply lie on the uneven ground and not say a word as everyone around me remains in their position.

…

I blink several times, hoping I wake in my own home, both Mary and Rachel either helping mother cook or playing outside on the swing set. The swing set. I drift off to a happy memory as I remember what it looks like. Its bright red and shiny railings, the wooden seat on both swings, the metal chains both girls would grasp onto every time they wanted to swing or be swung.

I remember the day I built it. I remember the two beautiful smiles I'd created once I finished the task. The way those two shiny grins bounced from the grassy ground and onto the seats of the swing.

"We're the only girls in the whole neighborhood with a swing set, Edward!" I remember Mary telling me, as she swung back and forth, both of her hands holding the chains that held her above the ground. My hands on my waist, I smile at them both, watching them carefully in case they fall.

…

Some of the soldiers are gone all of a sudden. A few shot as well, and the others escaped by now. I think of crying for help, and once I try to move my dry, trembling lips, I let out a sound unfamiliar to me. It almost seems like a sigh, only more high-pitched. Somewhat like a whimper, but slightly more understandable. I close my mouth, seeing is how there is no way anyone will hear me – my attempt at screaming resulted in a quiet release of air. The innocent memory I thought of earlier is gone, and I can no longer remember it the same way as before. It may have lasted a number of seconds in reality, but seemed like eternity. If only it could've been.

I try to shed a tear – after all, I am dying. I can't. My emotions refuse to surrender the way my body has. My muscles are now tense. I assume there are fewer soldiers than before, but see none from the corners of my eyes. My heart sinks. I now realize I am alone. Every single soldier has left the area, even Major Henry is gone.

Suddenly, I lose the feeling in my legs all at once. I blink in disbelief, only to discover I am being dragged by one of the soldiers in my unit. Is it Johnson? Tex, perhaps? Maybe Smith? It doesn’t really matter, since whoever it is, is trying to save my life. He lifts me on his shoulders, rotates me until he grabs my shoulders with his right hand, and my legs with his left. "Don't worry, Eddie" the soldier reassures, his eyes remaining on the uncertain horizon. As we pass bloody bodies along the way I spot one quite familiar looking.

"Ma…Majo…" I try to say. "Henr-"

"He's dead." The solider gets a tighter grasp on my legs as he takes larger steps than before. He starts running. The dust the sand creates spreads in the air, and once it disappears, the rocks and the twigs seem so beautiful and full of color. The different shades of brown and white are now a glorious rainbow through my eyes.

As I try to lift my bobbing head, I notice the small pool of maroon-colored blood I left behind. It almost seems like a mark of territory, a sign with no words, yet reading a clear message – "The ground where Corporal Edward lay". In my mind, the words 'for possibly the last time' echo with trembling fear. I look away, too frightened of the truth; that I may not make it out of this battle alive.

My fellow soldier – my possible savior – stops at an area with other soldiers from our platoon, and rests me on the ground, now kneeling and staring at my wound. I can now see the soldier is Corporal Leonard Tex. His mouth opens and he speaks to me, but I don't seem to understand the words he is saying. He rises up, yet before he leaves, hopefully to search for medical assistance, I finally find the strength to talk.

"Wait." I beg of him. He stops, looks at me – his expression cold, his eyes sad. I manage to lift my left arm high enough to have my fingers point at the pocket above my heart. He bends down, opens the pocket, and pulls out a bloody photo. I open my mouth to explain, but he nods in understanding, places the photo in one of his pant leg pockets and walks away.

I think of the photo I had in my pocket earlier; the black and white memory of me with my beloved sisters, my little angels – and their very own swing set in the background. A single tear falls out of my right eye, but it's enough to express my pain. Not the physical one anymore; the emotions hiding in my heart can no longer bear the solitude, and they burst in the form of a drop.

I try to draw in a deep breath, but halfway through I stop. My chest feels incredibly heavy; as if a grand piano were resting upon it. In my thoughts, the piano is actually there, and suddenly, out of nowhere, a young girl sits on the stool in front of it and starts to play. Each note she gently presses makes my heart twitch differently than the previous one. The song is unfamiliar to me, but its context becomes clear once she turns her head from the keys and stares at me. Her eyes are a blaring white, and tears roll down both her cheeks. Welcome to heaven. She says, then vanishes into thin air; a swirl of light and sparkle now rising up into the unknown. I roll my eyes upwards to the gray, cloudy skies and see all the good in the world.

I close my eyes and let it happen.