I lie in my bed. I listen. The wind howls. A branch scratches against the window, or is it her reaching out with her bony fingers? Death comes for us all. I wait. Sometimes, I feel the cold, dark breath of it, but I am not afraid. I have waited long enough. I will not wait longer. I toss aside my soft blanket, and reach beneath my bed for something cold and hard and sharp. There will be no straw bed death for me. I know the truth of it. I’ve known it for a very long time.
Piercing blue eyes, long blonde hair, and the sweet smell of her overwhelming me. I want to forget her, but I can’t. It’s not something I can tuck away. She lurks in the synapses of my brain. She’s with me still. Every day I see her, everyday for fifty-eight goddamn years.
Cold, damp, the dark so thick, I could reach out and caress it. It was a night very much like tonight. I don’t have the words for it. It’s hard to describe. It’s a feeling. A gut feeling A sense of dread. A sense of foreboding. I knew it was coming, but the knowing meant nothing. Nothing at all. Most nights hunkered down in my foxhole. I was just bored, or scared, or both, but tonight. Tonight was different…
It’s never truly quiet. Thunder and the sound of artillery echo in the distance. I can hear the rustle of movement to my left, and gentle swearing. Joe never digs his hole deep enough. He’s a little shit, but he never digs his hole large enough to get comfortable, or at least as comfortable as you can be knee deep in cold mud. Sleep won’t come, and morning is a lifetime away.
Shards of frost crunch against in my palms and my bladder pushes against my belt. I think about taking a leak in my helmet like Joe does. He always says he does it to be safe, but I know he is just too fucking lazy to go to the latrine. If the shelling starts up again, I’ll just be cold, wet, and smell like piss. No, I’ll crawl to the damn trench. I’m already covered in mud, and then I’d have a smoke to warm me up. It’ll settle my nerves.
I quietly make my way through the cold, and it is cold-a cold so bitter my teeth ache. I’m about ready to burst, but I’m not eager expose my vitals to the frosty air. I breathe a sigh of relief as a cloud of steam gently rises. I’m just starting to withdraw, when a snarl erupts from the darkness. It’s close, too close. I grab for my knife. It’s cold, and hard and sharp.
“Hold. Be still. There will be time for that later.” A stern yet strangely feminine voice commands.
‘What is a woman doing this close to the front” I think. “Who are you, and what the hell are you doing here?” I demand.
A low chuckle answers me, “There will be no Hel for you. No straw bed death for one so brave and strong and true.” She steps forward, a shimmering, statuesque blonde dressed in chain mail. A glowing long sword clasped in a mailed fist. A raven perched upon her shoulder. A brute of a wolf at her side.
“Return to your fighting hole warrior, for there will be much battle and dying this night.” And with a glimmer she is gone.
I turn. A wall of pain greets me. My ears ring. I can’t see. I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel anything. The earth reaches up to embrace me, and there is nothing. No, there is a dim hazy light, and I can feel my hands. They tingle as if asleep. I roll to my knees, still clutching my knife. It fills my hand. It comforts me.
It’s no longer dark. More like dusk, that half-light when the sun is just on the horizon and before night settles upon the land. It’s cold, and there’s a dusting of snow, and tracks. I sit in the snow and the cold and the half-light, and I make a choice.
Up ahead, a huge tree thrusts towards the sky, and among its thick boughs I see a warm light, and the smell of roasting meat tickles my nostrils. My stomach growls, and my throat is dry. Perhaps I can slack my thirst and appease the beast in my belly. Slowly, I make my way towards the tree.
I behold a great, long hall of timbers. A huge door thrown open to the cold, a light so wild and strong that it cannot be contained. It tumbles out into the night. Embracing me with warmth so inviting. I can’t help but step through the door.
Tables fill the hall, and men fill the tables. All manner of men. There a dark man dressed in buckskin stabs a haunch of meat, to his left sits a huge man dressed in full plate armor. His beard dripping wine. Raises a tankard in a toast to the man across from him. A small man dressed in khakis with smudges of dirt and blood upon his face-a face I know. The man turns.
“You look like you could use a drink.” Says Joe.
The earth reaches up to embrace me, and there is pain. My head throbs, my body aches. I can’t feel my legs. I clutch my knife. There is a dim light. The light of a new day. My eye reveals a world of chaos. A world gone wrong. This is what remains of my brothers. This is what remains of me…
It was a cold night much like tonight. I know she is coming I can feel her. I am not afraid. I clutch my knife. It fills my hand. It is cold and hard and sharp. It comforts me. I am ready. Brothers, I come, but not alone…