The cold, dense air burned my throat as the bullets rang passed my ears. I have scarcely missed six potentially fatal shots today. A bullet shell drops at my feet. It hits the hard ground hard and makes a subtle chime. More fall, and all I can think of is the wind chimes in the summer time on my front porch. My mom is cooking in the kitchen, and my father is lecturing me that I need to get my life together.

“Maybe you should stop being such a coward, and just enlist already.”

I only enrolled so my father would finally be proud of me. I regret this decision more than anything else in all my life. I can’t believe I could be so stupid. No matter what I do, I know he’ll never look at me with the proud glow in his eyes the way I've seen my friends dad’s look at their sons. I know he’ll never respect my wishes. No matter what I do, he’ll never be happy with the progress I've made in life. He’ll only respect me after I die “bravely.”

In my mind though, war is for cowards. It’s for people who don’t wish to sort out their problems in logical ways, but rather just use violence as means for “winning”. Thinking of this is making my mind explode with thoughts as if it's a grenade.

“GRENADE!”

I need to get out of this place. My thoughts are racing faster than thick lead through these powerful guns. These so called enemies are my friends. I need them to be my friends. I need someone new and different to talk to. I need perspective from the other side. I want to know how I can help these young, civilian soldiers when I get out of here. I want to quit and join the Peace Corps. It’s been a dream of mine since before I can remember.

Get me out of here. I’m sorry father I can’t do this anymore.

I dart from the trenches. “PRIVATE. GET BACK HERE.” Where is here? There is no here. There can’t be. I don’t want to be alive. I charge to the enemy side. Nothing can stop me now. Nothing except a young boy, about eight, aiming a gun towards me. He’s standing in front of an older woman holding a small child.

“I”M NOT A THREAT. I WILL GET YOU OUT OF HERE!”

He fires. My left shoulder is bleeding. It feels like the time I was helping my dad build the tree house in the backyard. I fell and dislocated my shoulder.

“Get up and be a man.” My father said that to me a lot.

“PLEASE GET UP PHIL! I CAN’T LOSE YOU NOW!”

I can hear my friend, George, screaming my name. He needs help. The other side is closing in. Closer. Closer.

Their shooting George at close range now. He has no way out. I must act fast if I want my best friend to live another day.

I fire my gun. I see a tall, tan man dressed in the other sides uniform drop to the ground. A bullet directly between his eyes. He’s gone. A bullet I shot. He is dead. I have never felt more alive. Exhilarated, I fire my weapon again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Four more men on the ground.

Again.

Again.

I have so much power in my hands.

I can’t stop. Not now. I’m alive. “Dad, I’m a hero.” I’m a hero.