12 July 2012
The sluggish air holds the stench of death on its misty tongue. I limp past the rubble of the destroyed shops that once lined this street. Step over the bodies of friends and enemies alike, all dead now, all gone. A sob escapes my throat as I see Nicky Stephenson, lying face-up with a hole in his chest. He was only a year older than me.
I wonder if my brother survived. I'm the only living soul on this street, but there were plenty of men fighting elsewhere. He could have lived. I have to keep telling myself that. Else I might break down.
I turn a corner. Still no survivors. Nothing. Then, from underneath the remains of a table, I hear a groan. One of distress and pain, but still a real groan from a living human mouth. I run as fast as I can to the table and flip it aside. Underneath lies...
"Jimmy?"
My brother looks up. It's him! Out of all the people who fought here, he was one of the survivors! I give a happy shout as he looks at me, then stands and lunges into my open arms.
Then, suddenly, I spot in the reflection of a window a man. He's lying on his front and I can tell he has mere minutes to live, but he has a gun. A gun aimed at my back.
I realise that Jimmy must be able to see the man as well, and at that moment he suddenly swivels around. I realise what he's going to do as we spin, so that he is between the gun and me.
Then the gun fires.
My brother cries out in pain. I scream his name - "JIMMY!" - but it's too late. As the gunman collapses, my brother falls to the ground, taking me with him.
His sacrifice succeeds.
But he dies in my arms.
Sacrifice • Opuss № I