War kills anyway

I don’t know when or why or how it started, but it did. It started quite quickly, and quite effectively, if you wanted success for it. But I didn’t. I never did like the idea of war, and this one’s not worth fighting for; I guess we should all just join the side that’s going to win. It doesn’t really matter whose side you're on in a war such as this, just so long as yours is the right one…If that makes sense to you, anyways. If not, you can join whichever side you want. War is war, I say. And not very often are things worth fighting for to be found. If I didn’t have to join, I wouldn't be. Hell, I would never willingly fight in a war. Is this a protest against war? Who knows. But if it were, it would sure be a good one. All I know is that I like the peace of lying on my couch and falling asleep next to my cat.

I want to be creative, however I plan to do this. Everyone seems to be moving to Canada before they’re drafted, but I want to think of something better. I want to escape this in a manner that will keep me from it forever. So I have a few options crossed off already: moving to Canada, simply ignoring the drafting issuance, and the obvious, which would be going to war. None of them seem to be creative enough for me at the moment. I don’t know why, at the age of 18, I actually decided to sign up for the draft. I mean, yeah, it’s a federal offense not to, but honestly, who gives a shit? I know I sure don’t. But apparently I did at the time. Because I did, and here I am, called for the draft. With a dilemma such as this, it’s hard to think about what to actually do, but I think I’ve figured it out. What can I do, legally, to get out of this wreck the government likes to (considers a calling) call a style of life? Which is really death, when you consider the fact that it’s a war. Nobody survives war, I mean, even if you come out alive, you’re dead inside when you get back.

Slowly, I pulled my attic ladder down, and climb up into the dark, dungeon-like room. The musty smell hit me in exactly the same way I imagined the bricks everyone threw off our high school roof on the last day of our senior year. For some reason, that day always seems to come back to me. There was something magical about it, watching the blocks shatter on the sidewalk as if they were simply ashes before they fell to their doom. Nothing has ever quite matched that beauty, of destroying something that’s already dead. There’s a sense of peace in doing this, I’ve found over the years. It’s as if you earn the relaxation you would have gained if you were bludgeoning an angry spouse with a nerf bat, except nobody gets hurt, because there’s no more harm that could possibly come to the brick, which never had any life from the start. I think that’s why that day has always stuck with me. Well now it’s time for me to do some destruction again, but the thing is, nothing I’m about to destroy is lifeless. Not yet, anyways.

I begin to delve into the depths of the strong, stenchy, hole of a room, and soon find the object I’ve been after. I pull the pistol out of the cabinet, and check for any ammunition, just to see if there’s anything left in there. Luckily, there are three bullets left. I haven’t touched the thing in years, so I have to make sure I remember exactly how it works. I pull the string which controls the light in the attic, and carefully lower myself back into the main corridor of my home.

I want an easy clean-up, so I walk into the woods of my backyard, and load up the gun. I guess my father taught me something right over the years, because I certainly remember exactly how this thing operates. I set it up just right, and quickly, before I have the chance to change my mind, pull the trigger.

I feel the pain surge and begin to pulse through my lower limb, where the undoubtedly fractured bones in my foot had shattered.  I limp back to my house, where I had purposefully left my phone on the back porch – in easy reach from the grass.  I dial, and watch the blood seep from my foot into the wooden steps on the porch, soaking into the oak, then soon pooling beneath and around the area.

The operator answers the phone, asking for details on my emergency, and I choke up from the pain in my foot, but I realize that I don't want help. I tell the woman I heard a gunshot a couple of blocks down, and hang up, waiting for the burning sear of the bones to calm. I begin to get tired, and decide to lay myself down on the porch, bleeding out, not wanting help, and as I come to the realization that I may die, I feel calm. I feel as though the weight of life has been lifted from me, and I close my eyes peacefully, waiting to die.