Cracked Heart

He closed his fist around the cold metal, the imprint of the heart shape driving into his hardened hands, the chain shivering over his closed fingers as he kept his eyes shut tight. He was not sure if this time he was going to make it out. Every other time, the sounds of the bullets whirring past his ears had almost seemed too playful and part of the game of staying alive.

This time, he was fairly sure that he was not going to make it.

In truth, that had probably been the plan. The information that he and his fellow officers had found would change the direction of the war, and he knew that they had to get it to the brass. He had taken off from his unit making a lot of noise this time, instead of the stealth with which he had traveled through most of this war, a time that he had never thought he would see where the world had been driven back by devastation and ruin. This time, it had really been a world war. Every continent had felt the collapse that came after a rain of bombs that had come from almost all nations. The soldier knew that this was it, and it looked like nothing was going to prevent every corner from being sent back to a time before there were things like air conditioning and coffee shops.

One of the bullets hit close to his face, the dirt in the drainage trench in which he had dove spraying into his eyes, making him take his other hand and wipe it away until the stinging stopped. Nothing was going to make him let loose of his talisman though. From this point on he would be fighting with one hand wrapped around the locket that held her picture, the smile that had made him want to survive even in the harshest of times.

Shaking furiously, his hands could barely open the clasp that held the locket shut. It was just a small click when it finally gave into his fingers, but it opened so that he could see the black and white of the picture. Even in his slightly blurry state, the picture gave him enough so that he could see her in his mind, smell the light floral scent of her hair, and feel the velvety touch of her hand.

It was enough to inspire him to live at all costs.

When the corporal had first entered into the military, her tears had broken him into tiny pieces, each one capturing the pain that she felt when she knew he was no longer going to be near. She had said she would wait, but even now after months of not hearing from him he was sure that she was never going to be there if he did survive. He wanted so very much to believe that she would be there waiting for him, but they had been very young when he left, and he had been very bad at keeping in touch.

It was the dream that kept him alive. He remembered her beautiful face, each of its curves and flaws embedded in a memory of a perfect love that could never be matched in reality. He knew it was a dream, but he also knew that any hope of that romance was dashed if he were to die. He may be the romantic hero that she loses to war, but she would never have known him as her steadfast love if he were to deny them both that chance.

So, he lived.

Day after day he lived, dreaming of the perfection that he believed, or at least he wanted to believe, existed in a future but she was his wife, and he was her husband.

He had left when others had made fun of him for his dream. They had asked why she never wrote to him, but he simply said it was because he had never written to her. Once he had left, he had never reached back into that space where they had existed. He kept it in his heart, and he kept it in his dreams. However, he knew he had lost her when his mind did not have the words to compose a letter to someone that meant the difference between his survival and his final breath.

Another bullet came perilously close. He squeezed his hand harder around the locket, the token that she had given him as he had stood there, duffle bag on his shoulder and the look of quiet despair settled in his eyes. He wanted to reassure her, but they both knew what war could mean. Yet another hit close to his eye again, this time lodging a sizable particle in his eye, making him squeeze it shut and rub furiously. As he squeezed the locket harder, he felt a sharp crack as his fist unwillingly tightened just a bit more.

With the one damaged eye still closed, he delicately opened his fingers, a few drops of blood escaping and drizzling as he looked, bleary eyed at the ruined heart. It was broken almost precisely in half, the glossy black and white picture torn and with a drop of blood covering that beautiful smile.

He let the pieces fall to the ground and stared at them with his one good eye as the picture fluttered in the wind and finally escaped the grasp of the metal heart.

Rifle drawn, he stood up. A primal scream came from his lips as he dove into the line of fire, disappearing in the smoke and noxious gases until his fate was absorbed into the wilderness of flying bullets and decimated flesh of other men whose hearts were also irrevocably stilled.