Unreliable Narrator

 

The Fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays of the year. Next to the Fourth is Veterans Day and Memorial Day. As a veteran of a foreign war, I think it's extremely important to celebrate and remember our veterans and our country's heroes, especially Sgt. Steve Calborne, who served each of the tours with me, and unfortunately lost his life in battle on our last tour. After serving 3 tours in Afghanistan, fighting on the frontlines against al-Qaeda and Taliban, I truly understand the importance of our nation's soldiers.

It is my first summer back from the war in my small town home in Texas. It's the night of the Fourth of July and all of our neighbors have decided to have a block party. The turnout was great, many of our neighbors showed up and everyone bar-b-qued. Most of these smells I haven't smelled in many, long, and scary months. It was almost new to me but I felt very at home, although a bit on edge ever since I experienced and engaged in combat.

The kids were all over the neighborhood playing games with each other and having a blast. We even set up a few inflatable pools for the kids to enjoy. The evening winded down and we sat around a bonfire, discussing the many things and events that made up our lives. I sat quietly, observing and listening to everyone. The kids still played games in the yards. Then at about 11 o'clock it was time to light off some fireworks to celebrate this great country's Independence Day. As I saw my neighbor light the fuse I sat patiently waiting for the flaming ball to propel itself into the air and burst into streaming, colorful sparks.

I watched, then seemingly out of nowhere, I heard the gunshots, the explosions of the rockets. I got up and yelled for everybody to take cover. Almost instantaneously after this I was tackled to the ground. At that point my training took over. I flipped over my attacker, breaking his arm in my movement of defense, I added a final fatal blow to his head and instinctively searched for and took cover behind a nearby garage in some shrubbery. I thought about the situation we were in: We were being attacked, some foreign force invaded us, maybe North Korea. The shots must be coming from grounded paratroopers, knowing that I figured reinforcements must be coming soon. Vehicles, tanks and other armored vehicles probably. My thought was interrupted by the distant hum of the helicopters, then I heard the HumVees racing back to base. I heard Sgt. Calborne yell for me to retreat back to base. I looked back between the houses and couldn't see him. With a plan of action I raced back to base, went downstairs into the safe and grabbed my AR. I was about to run into the street when I saw the vehicles of insurgents approaching. I dove for cover behind large a stack of firewood and fired a few rounds at the insurgents. Immediately the insurgents responded with gunfire. I didn't move, I was trapped. I fired the rest of my ammunition into the invaders posted around me. I sat behind the woodpile, I had been beat. I was alone on the battlefield and I had been beat. I looked down at my knuckles, clenched to my gun and still bleeding and throbbing from the fight at the beginning of all of this. I smelt the gunpowder coming from the shells that lay around me. Suddenly I saw a small metal bottle drop next to me and release a cloud of smoke. The last thing I remember was smelling the smoke, then everything went black. I woke up the next morning in a hospital, handcuffed to the bed. I had zero recollection of the events that brought me here. Soon after I learned that I was being charged with the murder of one citizen and five police officers. I didn't commit those crimes, right? I was battling an enemy. I was at war. Right?