Wartime Reflections.

Chapter one

"Go back to the war! Think of all the blood, explosions, countless widows!" LeFou tells you.

"Widows..." You breath.

You think back of those glorious days, the day you first arrived at the front. Only sixteen years of age and dreaming of what it would bring. It didn't take long before the dream shattered and you saw all the horrors that came with it. How naive you had been, thinking it would be fun to be able to blow things up. Finding out all to soon of all the lives that ended in one explosion. So different from all the little ones you made back home.

You hear your father's words repeating in your head, "You are my son, that means you're strong. Stronger then all the other men that go there, they are weak and will find themselves lifeless in the dirt. Be strong and you'll return safely, return a hero and make me proud son." Another explosion rings through your ears and you shut it out, thinking of the ones back home, that had been so much fun. You hear the command to attack and you snap back to attention.

You are strong, they are weak. You play this repeatedly in your mind as you fight your way through enemy lines. Seeing the blood you spill, you feel your knees weaken and think back to your father's words. No, you will not give in, you are stronger then this. You are Gaston and will not be lying facedown in the dirt. You reach the other side of the battle and see an officer sitting on his horse and pull your trigger. You release the breath you were holding when you see the man tumble from his horse. Then he lies still in the dirt, he was weak. Your comrades have arrived and the soldiers that were left fled, you feel clapping on your back and hear the many praises for killing the officer that is still lying at your feet in the dirt. You decide then and there that you will never end up there, you are a hero.

You've won your first battle and they are all celebrating their victory. You see faces flash by of those you've killed earlier that day, you put down your drink and leave the party, getting some fresh air. A crying woman draws your attention, you go to her and ask what's wrong. "My husband didn't return today from the battle." She sobs. You want to console her as a gentlemen should, and wrap an arm around her. You ask where she lives and you escort her home, when you have arrived she asks if you would like a drink. You agree to be polite and go inside, she tells you of her husband, an officer. You see his face again, the wide open lifeless eyes that stared up to you as he lay there. When she's done talking she wraps her arms around you, she wants you to help her forget he's gone. She then leads you to the bedroom and when she kisses you, you no longer remember the faces of the men on the battlefield. You calm down and reciprocate, you would help her forget and forget it all yourself.

You return to the camp and your comrades, thinking of what had just transpired. You hope that maybe tomorrow will be better, less blood and bodies to take over your mind. You think back to the widow and the images leave your mind again.

Why did this all have such an effect on you, it wasn't supposed to, your father thought you better than that. You are above such weaknesses and you want to make your father proud.

When you go to bed you think of the widow and how she made you forget. You close your eyes and an image of an explosion scattering bodies turns into one of the innocent once you witnessed at home. You once more see the officer's face and think of his widow and you finally relax.

You turn your thoughts back to the present. Your friend is in front of you and you smile. Yes widows... The one thing that always helps you forget.

Let me know what you all think!