Heart Lost in War | Teen Ink

Heart Lost in War

November 15, 2008
By michael feinberg BRONZE, Encino, California
michael feinberg BRONZE, Encino, California
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Every time the solider woke up at four in the morning, he would sit by his bed and pray. Maybe for salvation, maybe for life, maybe for his wife and eight year old daughter at home, but no one knew for sure. After his prayer, hr would get dressed. He would take off his sleep attire, and take out his military attire. He would slip his left leg in and then his right into the same pair of pants every day. He would take a white tunic to cover his bare chest, put one arm through one hole and then the next. He would then put on a matching jacket over the tunic, the very same way. Least bat not last, he would look at the same picture of his daughter, the only in the red photo frame. A tear would roll from his left eye down, until about the center of his cheek. The tear would then turn right and drip down his chin.

Back in Pueblo, Colorado, the girl would wake up at exactly seven thirty five in the morning and sit in the bay window. Today would be a cold and snowy winter day. Something in particular, gave her shivers up her spine. All she could do was pray. While eating her favorite pancakes with her favorite syrup, she would always be looking at the picture of her father. The picture was not in a frame, but rather held onto the refrigerator with flower magnet that implies “water makes plants grow.” Her eyes would become watery, and she would wipe the tears off with a tissue. She hasn’t seen her father for several years now she knows. The excruciating pain of knowing she can not see him, pains her more than the photo. All what was left to do is for her mother to drive her to school.

Back in the war, the soldier would soon jump into the Hum-V and get pistols and grenades ready for the attacks. The soldier’s team drove the vehicle into a dangerously open field. They kept throwing their grenades and firing their pistols until the vehicle came to an abrupt stop. The enemies were planning a foray against the vehicle while the soldiers were trying to find out why. The vehicle had run out of gasoline. They attempted to call their lieutent, while the special solider kept thinking of sitting by the warm fireplace on the cold winter’s day back home with his daughter, in Pueblo. A minute passed and out of know where, the vehicle had exploded into millions of fragments. The Hum-V had been rigged. All what was left was a pile of dust form the vehicle, the bodies, dipped into a red pool of blood.

The sky turned gray, thunder was roaring, and the rain was drip-dropping down. The dust started to blow and wash away, and the pool of blood started to flood away. Once the storm ended, a beautiful rainbow was left in the sky, with a cloud on either end. The pool of blood was still there, yet it was rather a pool of water, died red. The wind must of blown dirt and debris away from the Hum-V though. Under the red pool, was the soldier’s heart. Miraculously still slowly beating, and still slowly pumping blood.

That night in Pueblo, the girl sat again by the bay window, seeing the town saturated in snow. The chills down her spine became stronger. She knew what had happened to her father, and her eyes began to tear up, her heart kept beating.

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