We, The Unfortunate (Part One)

Part One: Doldrum Lights

He had been in the army for almost a whole year, not counting boot camp, and he still didn't know the name of those stupid guns. He figured that all he needed to do was to keep it loaded and shoot where he was told to aim. They didn't pay any attention to his dog-tags, those other soldiers.

They called him Private, and they made him carry everything they didn't want to deal with. He sometimes had a say in the current discussion, but that was rarer than a decent Christmas after the parental unit tells you that Santa Claus isn't real and that you should get over it like a real man. A few of them thought he was gay, simply because he didn't talk about women. The rest thought he didn't like women or men- that he was just a person that didn't contribute or drain. One or two claimed seeing him smiling at a pretty girl at some bar outside the base as he drank some nonalcoholic beverage.

They didn't like him, and they didn't know why. He just didn't fit, and that seemed like a good enough reason. It was Private Aaron that made him carry extra supplies the first time, and after a few furious outbursts, Private was broken and he never said anything against his fellow soldiers again.

They were at war again, fighting with their impressive firearms in a classified area in enemy territory. It seemed the unnamed enemy was just as exhausted from the long day of fighting, and the night was so nice and cool. The moon was half empty, giving everyone on both sides enough light and enough cover at the same time. Private Harold called it "Doldrum Lights". The lieutenant told Private Harold to shut his face-hole.

Everyone was barely whispering in their foxholes. Private sat alone with an unlit cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. Some were sleeping, eating, writing to home...

"Oy, Private! You awake?"

He didn't move. The only thing anyone heard from him was a grunt that sounded something like "yessir."

Lieutenant snorted, "Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?"

"A woman." replied the Private, spitting the cigarette out of the foxhole.

"Your mother?"

They chuckled.

"No. The Perfect one. The one I'm going to meet someday."

No one had a witty response to that right off. A few nodded.

"She'll love me like I love her. When I get out of this, I'll find her..."

"Yeah," said Private Aaron, "And I'll marry some rich broad and live happily ever after."

"Laugh all you want, Aaron. I'll meet her. Just you wait."

Private never did meet that girl. The enemy across the hill took a deep sigh with the breeze and bombed that foxhole while Private Aaron opened his mouth to say something else. All that was left of the place was an unsmoked, half-chewed cigarette, laying under some shrapnel and the remnants of a tiny picture frame in the doldrum lights.