I left home when I was about eighteen, told mom and pop I was gonna be a marine. Did my training as a boot and made some friends when I got sent to Iraq. Twenty-one now, and got some brother's in arms who got my back. For I am a soldier, and the soldiers life is all I know. We would tell stories of our grandfathers and how I lost mine in "Nam" and how they made us strong. By the end of the night we'd be shouting oorah, for that was the marine way. We were soldiers, and we were young. We'd thought that we were invincible but that would all change once we got our deployment. Once on the field and after one dead buddy, we realized how fragile our lives were. We drank to honor his memory and sent his mother a letter to tell her how brave he was. With this, I gave a little thought as I rolled in a humvee. We were young but understood that we could die at anytime. Life is too short I cried as I wrote my letter to my family, and wishing that I'd never have to die. I'm now out of the service after serving three tours in Iraq, coming home with fewer buddies than what I had started with. We all still meet over drinks but all of us silent to remember the one's who had fallen to make sure we got home. "For our brothers." we'd say as we put our shot glasses to our mouths.


© theillusivewriter