Vietnam Wall

     The black wall reflected my white-washed skin, disheveled jacket, and loosely lopsided glasses that hung limply on my face like they had since elementary school. The smooth memorial seemed to stretch longer than death itself as I contemplated the list of names that had been etched into it.

     Memories raced through my mind, outlined by the dense rainforest battleground that reverberated with exploding artillery. I saw several comrades falling to the ground around me, visibly wounded. Others didn’t move a muscle. “Playing dead,” I forced myself to believe, trying to dam the tide of fear and panic that sent ripples of pain through my sinking heart.
“Will, help!" a young and bloodied soldier called to me through garbled groans. A hand gruffly grabbed my shoulder; I turned and met my commander’s steely grey eyes,
“We won’t survive with extra baggage, soldier. Retreat to the copter, now!” He hollered hollowly, his bruised and trembling mouth betraying his truly sorrowful regret.

     I pondered quietly: Die a hero? Or forever regret living? Without a second's hesitation, I hoisted Gabe onto my right shoulder; he seemed light, until I wrapped my other arm around my friend Jesse’s waist and hoisted him over the left. It was less than an hour later that I died from bullet wounds, after carrying them to safety.

     For a single moment, I thought I’d seen my own reflection in the teary-eyed man reading my name. All that I am now is a reflection embedded into the dark granite wall.