I was skeptical of the idea of violence, the search for power and control. What was the primary goal of dictators, to serve or to control? When I heard the bombs I wasn’t afraid or curious. Gray filthy air filled the sky, yet I did not flinch. I knew what was happening. Death. The bombs were beautiful in a sense. The damage it causes has an impact. With each bomb came a change. Change for a family, an army, a community, a country, or even the world. I have gone through change. Ever since my family’s death, my soul has died. I no longer fear the bombs. The booming sound, the screams, the crumbling of lives and homes. My father, mother, and brother were all killed in my home. Everyone I knew and cared about is gone.  Now I serve the Polish army. I don’t know whether my focus is to prevent death or to kill. They say we fight for our country, yet I see no difference. All I see is red, nothing more, nothing less.
“Patryk!” I heard Kuba shout.
Kuba was a fellow soldier. He was the closest person that resembled a friend. An interesting figure. Fond of war. Fond of the idea of fighting for Poland.
Kuba continued to yell, “World War II isn’t going to end itself!”
I tried to blend in as well as I could.
“Yeah! Screw Hitler!” I announced to the whole squadron.
They responded, “Screw Hitler!”
We began to run. I felt no pain when I ran now. In the beginning my blisters took over my whole body. It felt like the pain of knifes stabbing my helpless feet. But now the pain was the only feeling the drove me on. It was time to head back to camp to collect rations and plan for tomorrow. The general leading our squadron, General K?amca, always motivated us with words of wisdom.
He began, “We do not succeed unless we sacrifice my brothers. Are you ready to die?”
We responded with confidence, “Yes, sir!”
My face was as fake as a porcelain doll. Lifeless, yet somewhat realistic.
General K?amca continued with satisfaction, “We are moving forward in history. We are continuing on our path to freedom. God has given us grace and guidance. We will continue tomorrow to stop the Nazi operation taking place in Warsaw.”
Soon enough gunshots began to crack into the air as loud as thunder, but without the raw power of a storm. Without any concern General K?amca persistently continued his motivational rant.
“Get your rest and eat your rations! I do not need weak soldiers, not like the Germans.”
He attempted to be funny however I did not smirk.
The nights were the actual war I was fighting. The nightmares were unlike any other enemy. Germans could not be comparable. I always liked to gaze upon Kuba when he slept. I was jealous of his peaceful slumber. Nightmares fueled him for war. My nightmares did not consist of war or death, they were composed of my past. The happy times. My life. My younger brother, clueless, so curious. I commonly remember my graduation. Was it two years ago? Beside the point. I always have an image of my mother’s tears of happiness. She sobbed. I can see the joy, and emotions through my mother, but now all I do is fear. I try to run away from emotions, emotions create madness they say. Some may call my nightmares dreams, but I do not see my past as a positive image. My dreams haunt me. So unlike Kuba I remain awake with the night.
I may have gotten an hour of sleep and the shouting of other soldiers awakens me. They were all full of energy and enthusiasm. I, however, never have had any motivation. Kuba continued to dress with a childish smirk on his face. He knew he was going to kill today. I knew this by his thrilled face. It was similar to a child awaiting for dessert after supper. With excitement he continued to get ready for the journey we were about to encounter. He thought of war as a game. As I continued to put on my shoes Kuba grabbed his gun. He strangely treated his gun as a toy.
I asked out of curiosity, “Kuba do you fear death?”
He responded, “Do you fear fate, Patryk?”
I did not respond. Only thought, he has a respectable argument. Why is it that people fear death when we are meant to die?
“Patryk, only cowards fear death.”
I am a coward, I cannot even sleep because I fear happiness. I continued to get ready and grabbed my gun.
We traveled down the dirt and gravel path, and no buildings were to be found, just rubble. As our squadron trekked we came across Polish citizens traveling in the opposite direction. I noticed a child perhaps only four years old, clueless. Unable to make sense of war. I was in a similar state of this child. I seemed to be truly connected with him and the emotions he was going through. His eyes were innocent, but he knew he had to fight his urge to cry. He had accepted his fate like I have accepted mine. We then continued on the path. Our squadron was beginning to get closer to the destination point. Suddenly, Kuba crouches and we, like puppies, follow.
Kuba whispers, “There is a German.”
I noticed a small child, a boy around the age of twelve with nothing but a small knife in his hand. Kuba begins to c*** his gun and prepares to shoot. I do not move. We then hear the blast. The ringing in my ears was a distraction from the scream. I hear a thump, I look back upon an hour ago. How is a Polish child different from a German child? Is it their culture? I questioned why that child had to die. The poor child’s blood traveling down his head now became a lifeless piece of meat. I then heard a similar thump and gunshot that seemed to be closer. I look ten feet away and I see Kuba, similar to the child he has lost his soul. A lover of war has now experienced his beloved fate.
I faintly say under his breath, “Why me?”
I see a glistening tear fall down his cowardly face. Maybe the ones who speak of death the most are the ones who fear it the most. Soldiers begin to scatter like ants. Kuba was lost and we had to go back to camp. The three hour journey was unsuccessful, we needed Kuba’s leadership. But I understand that his leadership was fake and was a play put on by his dual personality. Thinking back to him telling me to not be a coward I realize now that we are all cowards.
As we move along the tiring road once again we decide to stop at a half crumbled building. We go through a door and begin to examine. All five of us search different areas. I hear a slight sound in the room I am examining and find a group of ten Jewish civilians. They begin to panic, thinking I’m a German soldier. A boy steps forward about the same age as my little brother. A pain shoots abruptly into my side. I see red and only red. The boy then looks at me and begins to cry uncontrollably. I noticed he seemed familiar. I then too began to shed a few tears, not due to the pain, but because I have found my brother. My brother, Lucas. I thought I lost him, but now he has lost me. I do not blame him for his actions, everyone fears something, whether it’s a German, or even death itself. I then see my brother Lucas fall to his knees, and I saw regret in his tear filled eyes. The gun drops swiftly. I begin to mumble the words I have been told for the past year.
I whisper to my innocent brother, “Are you ready to die? Or is death ready for you?”