Coming Home

[reaper239]

I sat against the car on the cold hard ground breathing slowly. It all came crashing down. My heart ached, my chest was tight, and there was lead in my arms and legs. The sun was just starting to sink behind the trees, making the flashes of red and blue that much more…

I lifted my head and looked up at the tree no more than 20 feet away where my mother lay bleeding. I watched her chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall, stop. Her eyes fluttered as she looked me in the eye one last time, and I watched the life fade from her eyes. Tears leaked from mine, and I was suddenly aware of my own beating heart. I remember mother telling me, “home is where the heart is,” and if that’s true, then this must be my home.

I was vaguely aware of yelling to my right, and I looked to see my brother crouched behind another car yelling at me. I couldn’t hear him. And then he stood up and started shooting, ducking bullets coming back until that one found its mark. It was a bullet the devil scratched his name on. There he lay, dead before he hit the ground.

I looked to my left, and there was my other brother, sprawled in the field. He never stood a chance. When they came for us, there was no hiding, and no escape. This all seems so familiar, but I’ve never been on this side of things before. I was aware of a cacophony of sound around me, the crack of firearms like so many hornets buzzing around my head, when out of nowhere I felt a peace cover me.

And then I looked down in my lap, and I saw it. A smile crossed my lips. My family already went home, and now it was my turn. Memories of my brothers raced through my mind and I knew soon we’d all be together again. I reached down and reloaded my ticket home, the taste of cold steel on my lips, I closed my eyes and exhaled a held breath, and shots rang out in the cold January air. And then, silence.

I kept pulling the trigger, even as my limbs jerked back and forth to a rhythm only they were aware of. I kept pulling the trigger, even as the slide locked back and my ticket became useless. I kept pulling the trigger, even as my knees hit the dirt, refusing to further obey my commands. I kept pulling the trigger, even as my face landed on the cold dead grass, prickly and brittle in the dead of winter. I kept pulling the trigger, even as my eyes fluttered and my smile began to fade from my face.

I was home.

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