Her Soldier

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 her soldier

I hurriedly carried one of the wounded soldiers on my shoulder as I made my way to the base, hoping that I wasn't too late. There is no way you can sprint when you've got a limp grown man on your shoulders. I don't know who he is, but the moment that he dropped to the floor due to the bullets that went through his body, I rushed to save him and now I hoped that he would survive. 

I was hurt myself but it wasn't anything too bad. I had been grazed by a bullet on my thigh and that was the worst of it. 

When I got back to base, a couple of the soldiers saw me struggling and rushed to help me, along with some nurses who ran towards us and then hurried away with him as I made my way to my army home for the next four months. It wasn't really much of a home just a one bedroom with little to no furniture. 

Before heading to the room, I decided to go to the tent and get something to eat. 

When I entered, I found myself a table and sat down with a couple of soldiers I didn't know but we all got into steady conversation about families and what we left behind. 

I didn't have a family and I had left nothing behind. Myself along with some of the soldiers had nothing to lose and no one to miss and that's why we were here. 

I'm an orphan who grew up in shelters my entire life. I was bullied in school, tried committing suicide 15 times and after the 15th attempt when I was 19 I decided to just leave and join the army. That's how I found myself here. 

At least here when I die, it will be somewhat of an honourable death. Not much honour in it if you ask me, killing people in return for being killed...yeah, not honourable at all but I did what I did because I wasn't good for anything else besides this. I was just glad I was away from that evil shelter, from those horrible laughs and ugly rumours. 

There was a shift in the place when four messengers walked in with big duffle bags, screaming out names and handing out letters. I rolled my eyes, tuning out because it's obvious I didn't get any mail from anyone. I didn't have anyone and I was fine with that, I suppose. 

You get used to it after some time. It hurts the first few times they call out names and hand out letters that soldiers received from their loved ones and you sit there, waiting, even though you know you have no family and nobody cares about you. But I've been here for 9 years and I know damn well I'm not getting any letter so I've hardened. 

I just placed my spoon on the plate, not caring to finish the food because I'd lost my appetite and stood from where I sat. Ignoring the happy smiles and loud laughs as soldiers opened their letters or bragged about it amongst each other. 

I hated being here after they all received gifts and mail. 

I walked out of the tent, taking a deep breath as I looked outside. The sun had set and there were no stars, the lights above covered up the entire camp. Lighting every way and I rolled back my shoulders, getting ready to walk to my container and call it a night. I hadn't slept for the past two days and I hoped our bases won't be under attack any time soon because my body was aching and my ears were ringing from the sound of all of those bombs and gun fire. 

"Hey," I heard a female voice say behind me and I turned, looked around and then looked behind me when I noticed there wasn't anybody else besides me and this lady. 

I raised an eyebrow, "me?" I asked her. I'd never seen her before and as I looked at her, her uniform was different from mine which meant that she was a part of a different unit. 

She nodded. I looked her over, her head was bald and she had no eyebrows which made her seem weird in my eyes but I realised that perhaps she had cancer or some disease because I don't think anyone would purposely shave their eyebrows. She was almost the same height as myself and that says a lot. I'm a tall man, standing at 6 feet and she wasn't that far down. 

Her stance was just as powerful as mine and I respected her for it.

"There's something I want to give you," she said to me. 

I raised an eyebrow, "and what is it?" 

"A letter," she replied as she held out a white envelope, "you don't need to know anything else besides the fact that it's for you." 

"You must have the wrong person, nobody sends me letters," I told her, turning around. 

"Well this is a first," she said as she still held it out and I looked at her, furrowing my eyebrows. 

"This better not be some sick joke." 

"I'm not a fan of jokes or anything that makes me laugh," she snapped as she pushed the letter into my chest, "just accept it." 

She walked away and I wanted to throw the letter away but I just shook my head and kept it as I started to walk to my container. 

I closed the door behind me as I switched the lights on and then looked around the place. Sighing as I took off my clothes, walking around naked as I welcomed the feel of the cold air around my body. 

It was always so hot during the day. I would sweat and I would smell so bad. The stench of death and blood was thick in the air and I loved the night when I came into my container and called it a day. I would take a nice shower, walk around naked and appreciate the clean air. 

After my shower I dried my hair with my towel as I walked back to the door, locking it and then placed my bullets in my guns, making sure everything was fully loaded before I entered my bedroom and on my bed was the letter I had tossed on there before going to take my shower. 

I sighed as I sat on my bed, tossing my towel onto the floor as I reached for the letter and looked at it. It has nothing but a stamp on the side and I rolled my eyes as I tore it open and took out the letter. 

I opened the letter, unfolding it and was immediately met with neat calligraphy writing I've never seen before. "Wow," I said under my breath as I looked at the writing, whoever wrote this was truly talented. 

~~~Dear Soldier 

I'm entirely certain you do not know me and it is the same for me. I have written this letter to you because my therapist believes that this is the best way I can make friends due to my introverted and unsocial ways. 

I'm most commonly called Dudu by everyone around me and everyone who knows me because my name is rather very difficult to pronounce. I've learned to say my name is Dudu instead of saying the full Duduzile because one slip of the tongue can change the meaning of my name and render it useless. 

I have faced many things in my life, including the murder of my father. Though my problems may not seem like much to you, dear Soldier, because death is constantly around you, but my problems to me, are of course problems I wish I did not have. 

Is it horrible for me to say that I am glad that my father is dead? That I'm glad that he's buried six feet under the ground in a wooden coffin my mother and I were not willing to pay too much for? I suppose you would say that it is terrible for me to say such, but the man was no saint. 

I know neither of us on this earth are saints but that man was the devil and a half with how evil he was. His name was Tau meaning Lion. A name with a powerful meaning lead to the creation of a powerful and angry man who enjoyed abusing his wife and his daughter. 

When I was 5 years old, accidentally breaking his expensive sliding glass doors, he had taken a piece of glass and stabbed me with it. I still have the mark under my foot. When I was 10 years old, during his heated rage, he had grabbed the iron my maid was using to iron our clothes and held me as he pressed it to the back of my calf and I had screamed and cried as my mother was forced to watch my father do that to me. When I was 14 years old and he found me in my bathroom attempting to commit suicide with the knife in my hands, he had laughed and encouraged me to do it, when I hesitated he called me a coward...

All I felt was rage. All I saw was the man who had raped my mother in front of me as I watched and all I saw was the man who had shoved me under the water in the tub, so I did what I did. 

He died that night and it was the happiest I've ever been as I watched them cover his body and carry it away in a body bag. 

Ever since people found out, even though they heard of the abuse, they always called me names such as murderer and killer, but all behind my back. Now you probably wouldn't blame me for not having any friends besides my mother and my therapist. It's hard to trust when it was ripped away from you when you were just a child. 

I have gotten carried away in this letter and I hope you forgive me for my dark life. At times I wish to get things off my chest but I am unable to, because I'd rather not talk about it but just sit and wallow in my sad pitiful state. 

I wish to know more about you. It doesn't have to be about your past, it can be about your present or even your future and where you see yourself. 

If you don't respond to my letter I will very much swallow down the rejection as I have so many times before and  move on with my life. 

Signed off, 

Dudu.~~~