YELLOWJACKET - CH. 1: FIRST STEP

JANUARY

Gun shots.

The ringing in my ears is so loud, it makes me nauseous.

Everything stinks of burnt carbon and sulfur.

He goes down quickly, but I watch him fall to his knees in slow motion. Running to him feels like wading through quicksand.

On the ground, the dirt turns a ruddy-red as his blood soaks into it. I’m trying to stop the bleeding but it’s just not enough. Now my hands are ruddy-red, too.

He’s saying something, but I can’t make it out. He can’t stop bleeding. The bullets are still flying around us.

With his hands in mine, I pray to God: sorry for being a shitty Catholic; sorry for skipping church; sorry for every bad deed I ever did. I will make it up to you if you don’t take him now.

Stay with me, I tell him. Mi amigo, quédate conmigo. You can’t let your mamá bury her only son.

He looks at me like he’s lost in a daydream. His mouth is moving but I can’t hear him.

I pray in Spanish. I pray in English. I pray in both because I don’t know what language God even speaks.

His hands are cold. His grip weakens.

Take me instead, I plead. He’s got too much back home to lose.

I look into his eyes and I see nothing behind them.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

“And then, I wake up.”

( ☼ continue )