Father's Son

The ‘rain’ doused his cigarette…he knew it was his last. He looked up, cursed the minacious firmament, looked down, and cursed his hebetude. He felt like a misbegotten, a miscreated bastard left alone to misbeseem. He knew he was alone in an ocean of putrid mass, searching for purgation in Gehenna. He rummaged through the ‘accumulation’, searching desperately for beating hearts, breathing nostrils, warm hands, batting eyelids…. there were none…none.

He didn’t know if he’d survive this…though he felt a strong sense of déjà vu of having dreamt the proceedings…. only embarrassment was that he didn’t remember the end…or maybe he didn’t want to…or maybe he wasn’t supposed to…

He felt it…the obstreperous whisper…the discordant music…the still wind…dry saliva…it was inevitable…ineluctable…it spelt relinquishment…abandonment…resignation…desertion…DEATH.

He knew he had to relegate his thoughts…for he had no credence in time…only moments ago his greatest fear had been a bullet piercing his head…now it was to die without memories of his past life and dreams of what life could have been.
He would have to rethink those dreams, recall those memories…. prepare himself for expurgation… the final ‘expunge’.

He hadn’t been a soldier always…his recollection took him to days of his childhood…his parents…they looked happy…his mother combed his hair while his father read the Hamlet to him…”To be, or not to be: that is the question”…. he remembered his wife…she was to give birth to a baby…how he would have given anything to see his child…somehow he felt he could hear her screaming…how could she know…no she didn’t… his baby was being born…he knew it…he could feel it…he remembered the command on the radio…”PULL BACK…don’t indulge…you are too few…”, they had warned him…”staying there would mean certain death”…he hadn’t heeded the voice…”all death was certain”…he had replied… he had no choice…he had submitted himself to the good of his country…good of his people…he had held his position…he was still holding it…he had decided to be…


He could hear voices…familiar ones… though he couldn’t discriminate them. He felt great proximity to his family…he suddenly felt constricted…he felt forced…he felt all qualm receding…he felt hot…very hot…damn hot and damn wet…he could hear the voices clearly now…they said ”push harder…. HARDER”….

Somebody picked up his ensanguined body…he felt the eyes on him…he’d always loved attention…had the reinforcements arrived…he felt a womanly touch…he felt a kiss…he could have bet all his savings that the kiss was his wife's...it was sans the lover's affection though...he wondered why...he felt his comrades…he felt a salute…he felt respect…. he felt admiration… and then he felt nothing…he had arrived…no sooner than he had departed…he had been reborn…. a father’s son indeed…