The Legless Man

I returned from the war legless. From the knee down, I had nothing. My legs were blown off in battle and now, I’m bound to this wheelchair. While I was away, my wife sent me a letter saying she was leaving me for a better man. A stronger — more intelligent man — better suited for her needs. I don’t blame her. I’m a legless fool, now back, from a cruel and unusual series of battles I can not think of being just. My father died while I was away. He was old and died peacefully, but it tears me apart I couldn’t say goodbye. He was always a hero of mine — someone I admired — someone I found to be in my thoughts when I was amidst the hailstorm of flying bullets. I can’t tell what I’m more distraught over. My wife leaving me, my father’s death, or my legs being blown off. Despite the gut wrenching sadness and peril I was now facing in my life, I was at least glad to be home. Finally back from the treachery of war.

My father had willed to me $20,000, but it wasn’t anything near what I needed. It would have been priceless to have seen him upon my return — even for only a day. I needed the money, but my heart… What was I to do? I strolled down my old town street. Everything looked strangely the same. Like I had expected everything to change and it did not. I got to my local park and I sat by a bench, looking at the grassy field as the birds flew overhead — dancing in the air. I held onto my little black notebook — the journal I’d kept while on duty. It did me good — and as I read through what I’d written, what I used to be, I was able to think and see onto the man I once was. I stared at myself within my mind like I was a mirror — standing tall, uniform and all, ready for combat — I had so much I was fighting for. What was a man like me doing in the memory of a proud soldier? I started to tear up and one gentle drop splashed onto the page. I had to let it dry.

That’s when a man approached me. He walked up curiously and spoke, “Hey man, what happened to your legs?” It was an odd question to approach me with, but I answered nonetheless, “I lost them in the war.” “Oh, so you like war?” I looked at him for a second to see if he was serious or not. He looked a bit angry, “— No. I lost them during the war.” I responded. “Yeah, I heard you… You like war!” I spoke more sternly, “No, I don’t like war. I was just in the service.” He spoke more quickly, “So you think war is a service?” “No… I didn’t say that… I fought to protect the people of this nation.” “Oh, so you think I can’t protect myself? You think I’m not strong like you? That’s pretty fucked up, guy.” “I didn’t say any of that, I…” He got louder and started looking around to gather attention, “Hey! Get a load of this guy! He likes war! He thinks it’s a service…” “Sir, please, I didn’t say any of that. That’s not what I meant…” He looked back at me viciously, “You should be crucified.”

Another man started to approach and the first guy started to wave him over. The first guy looked at the second and spoke, “So, this guy here, says he likes war, and told me I’m not strong enough to defend myself. Can you belief this jackhole??” The second guy responded, “That is fucked up, guy. What is your deal?” Before I could say anything the first guy interrupted, “Yeah, I don’t know… but ima crucify him.” The second guy chimed in, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Let’s crucify this asshole.” I started to plead, “Please, please, gentlemen, you misunderstand what I’m saying!” The second guy interrupted, “Oh, so now we don’t understand? We’re just a couple of idiots, eh? Just a couple of idiots who don’t like war??” The first guy chimed in again, “Yeah, this guys it. Let’s crucify him.”

Right then, they both hoisted me from my wheelchair and started dragging me along. I started shouting, “Hey! Hey! What are you guys doing?? Put me back this is ridiculous!!” The first guy responded, “Yeah, says the guy who likes war…” They both laughed and continued carrying me down towards the road. They carried me for about five minutes before we reached a church. They flung open the doors still lugging me along and headed for the priest’s quarters. They started shouting, “Priest! Priest! We’re gonna crucify this guy!” The priest came out from his place quickly. “What on Earth are you talking about?” The two men approached the priest and dropped me in front of him. The second guy started, “This guy here…” The first guy interrupted, “Let me explain this… lemme… So I’m walking in the park minding my own business, right? And this guy here, no legs, starts telling me how he loves war — he thinks it’s a service — he insults my strength — tells me I don’t have the ability to defend myself, and humiliates my intelligence! So I’m thinking, this guy is ballistic. We need to crucify this guy now!” The priest begins to calm the frantic man, “Easy, easy, let me talk with the man…” The priest lowers himself a bit and looks at me. He gently says, “Did you say any of those things?” I took a breath for a moment and then spoke, “Father, all I said was that I lost my legs in the war and…” The priest interrupted, “So you do like war?” “No! No, Father, I served in the ar—” He interrupted again, “You think war is a service, do you? You think killing people is doing a service? You think going to foreign lands and killing people is good??” The priest stood up before I could say another word and continued speaking to the gentlemen, “I want to thank you, men. Let’s go ahead and move along with the crucifixion.”

With that, the men (followed by the priest) hoisted me up again and walked me to the back parking lot of the church. As we turned the corner I could see in the center of the parking lot stood erected a 10 foot tall wooden cross. They moved me towards it and laid me down beside. Next, they laid down the cross. Then, they picked me up again and lined me against the hot prickly wood crucifix. That’s when the priest drew the nails from his coat. Three giant nails that looked like they’d been sharpened to a T. He handed the nails and hammer to the guys and they moved in closer. I put my head back in fear and took a deep breath. They extended my arms tight and I felt the nail pressing against my left palm. I looked the other way and that’s when I felt the shooting pain of rude violence rush through my body. I screamed as they took several shots at my hand — over and over. They moved over to my right hand. I looked the other way. This one felt like it was beating a dead horse. I was in such bloody misery, the second shock of puncture just felt like a great numbness across my body. That’s when they moved towards my torso. The second guy spoke, “Uh… hey, so — where…?” The first guy interrupted, “Where, what?” “— He doesn’t have any legs… What do I do??” “Oh shit, right… Uhh… Fuckin’ nail his knees!?” “Alright!” They put my knees together and did the deed. It felt like hell. Was hell? I don’t know. I’ve never been to hell. It felt like pain — pain I didn’t ask for. I hoped I’d go to Heaven. They hoisted the cross into the air and set it in place. They didn’t even look at me after that. They all three just walked off. Away into the distance. None of them turned back. So there I was, back from the war, legless, draped on a cross, bleeding like a river, barely conscious. I wondered why. After everything I’d been through — it didn’t seem fair? But the more I thought, the more it made sense. Whether I had done right or wrong, my bloody life was worthless. I wasn’t a spectacle for anyone. It was only empty parking lot and I just hung there. They were right. I was done for.