Charlie In-Country by Regina Elliott Charlie writing prompt entry Artwork by Linda Bickston at FanArtReview.com |
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Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence. Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language. 
The last time I saw Charlie, I was
in-country and they were maddening
shadows, the damn bastards, in the
green and black dense jungle foliage.
Hiding, ghostly and evasive.
My brother soldiers and I were
sweating in dry mouthed anticipation.
The Bong Son Bomber I smoked the
day before was a brief vacation for
my spent mind. We had some fear,
some anger, and what the hell are
we doing here thoughts. We would
drift dreamily with the weed.
But, the following day in-country
all I could recall is a flash of burning,
ungodly pain. A chopper raging thunderously, I
was in and out of consciousness,
as I was loaded onto the angry bird.
Then, she was there, I remember
right before I blacked out. In the
real life, Sharon in her cheerleader
outfit in our high school gym, just
tossed up in a flight of acrobatic beauty
amidst the guys' basketball game.
Her long strawberry blonde
hair streaming, I became blissfully
lost in it. The bridge of her nose
sprinkled with endearing freckles.
Her happy bright brown eyes,
then, a sadness, as she began to
whisper to me.
I awoke in a large wounded
soldiers ward. I felt such a loss.
With my blurry eyes I looked
down the length of my body.
Oh God, I was missing my
lower right leg! I was heavily
bandaged and woozy. I raised
my head up, got a little dizzy.
My next thoughts were of my
brothers still in-country, some
of them in-country longer than
me, some Cherries. My psyche
screamed, "I can't leave my
war buddies !"
I slept so much, and the
Army nurses were friendly
and compassionate. One of
them had such a good sense
of humor, she smiled a lot,
reminding me of Carol Burnett.
My leg bandages were changed
regularly. I could swear I felt
my lower leg was still there.
I played checkers with a few of
the other recovering soldiers.
We had camaraderie and had
some laughs. The hospital
meals were alright, I couldn't
complain about my stay.
My surgeon came to see me
and he told me I was going
home stateside. I was elated,
but then experienced some
guilt. My brothers were still
in that storming chaotic hell.
Tears filled my eyes. The rude
scent of napalm still in my nose.
I took a long sip of apple juice
from the Styrofoam cup next
to my bed. I was only nineteen
but my brothers were young too.
The transistor radio was
playing the Cowsills song,
"Flower Girl," I began to
daydream of Sharon, of high
school, and all of our friends
again at a bonfire that chilly
Homecoming night in October.
All of Sharon's loving letters
to me, waiting, waiting, my
parents too. I'm coming home,
sweet girl, I'm coming home!
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Copyright 2025.
Regina Elliott
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