The First Bullet Hit My Chest

Bullets flying through the air right over me, my knees are shaking, and my feet are numb. I see familiar faces all around me dodging the explosives illuminating the air like lightning. Unfortunately, numerous familiar faces seem to disappear into the trenches. I try to run from the noise, but my mind keeps causing me to re-illustrate the painful memories left behind.

Put the gun down! Put the gun down! Pow Pow Pow. The gun shots cracked into the air as loud as thunder. One after another. We live day by day not knowing our end. In the blink of an eye our lives can be changed forever. Its life, yet even in knowing this we never expect tragedy to find us. We never expect it to affect our lives and the people we know and love. I’m going to share with you the day tragedy found my life.

Out of frustration, he fires the gun. The bullet hits me in the left shoulder towards my chest. It feels like being badly burnt, that's way to put it. I wince as it throbs painfully. Jackie screams at the top of her lungs. I fall over on the ground to look like he gave me a pernicious wound. I could latently die.I'm lying on the velvet carpet , bleeding and all that runs throughout my mind is the same words. Crap, I really liked this shirt. I'm wearing a really cute white halter top now stained with my red DNA juice. I officially hate blood. He, the gunmen (let's call him Steve,) fire six bullets in the air. Steve is now most certainly the most irrelevant person I know. Steve, if you're reading this, you suck and so does your timing. God, everything hurts. I'm just here, waiting to go any minute now and that's when the police and the paramedics

I remember the smell, the sounds, the taste of blood. I remember seeing my comrades fall beside me, the sting of the cuts. The numbness as I fell alongside them, the sadness, the tears. The price of war, I believe my father said that to me before he died. I remember being lifted and carried, I remember a laugh. Then I felt my mind slowly becoming numb, and soon my mind was consumed by the darkness. Like a wildfire it spread from the farthest of places, destroying everything in its’ path. It was over, the war was lost, hope gone; at least until today….

I still remember the dreadful day of pain, seared into my memory for all of eternity. The salty smell of blood filled the dark and smoky air. Gunshots rang through the air, echoing through the trees; yet the white flag flew high above us. Bullets rained from the sky knocking leaves and needles from the tree limbs and cut perfect circles through our tepees. An infant cried out hidden in the blood of his dead mother. Then, in the shower of deadly metal, a silver raindrop passed through the infant’s head and for one fateful second, everything became silent. Yet the rain of death persisted causing even more fatalities. I remember running as fast as my legs could carry me, trying to keep up with the rest of our people while doing my best to hide from the rain of death falling from the heavens.

It all started in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. My daughter, my wife, and I were walking into Toby Keiths Bar & Grill. A black suburban pulled up and rolled the window down, and fired a Beretta M9 into my daughter's chest. She fell into my arms and I couldn’t bear the pain of what was going on. After the gun fired there was nothing but the ringing in my ears from the gun.

I looked him in his eyes before I shot him. I can still remember the bullet hitting him straight in the chest and the blood hitting my face. It was warm and felt good in the face biting cold. I felt like I was crazy for liking the feeling of the blood. After a couple more miles my lungs burned and I wanted to quit.

When the helicopter landed, I was the first out. I was greeted by a small, scrawny man holding a clipboard, one of the paper-pushers as the Sergeant in charge of leading us called them - they didn’t fight, they only made sure supplies got where they needed to be - and that nothing was missing. The moment we got off, shots began to ring out. I had no idea what to do, I didn’t know from where the bullets were coming. The tree line to the north was empty, the citizens were running for cover - my brother was already dead - and he hadn’t even exited the helicopter. I realized who was shooting now.

As I stood in the gunner’s hatch completely focused with a firm grip on the 240B machine gun that was mounted on top of the Stryker I was assigned to. I listened to all the radio traffic that was being sent across the net hopeful and eager that maybe there was a chance we could recover the Soldier that had been taken captive. My heart was racing and the anticipation was high that night as it was pitch black and all you could see was the gun fight’s that were ensuing all throughout the Area of Operation (A.O.). As I scanned the surrounding area we were assigned that night to block off, all that kept running through my mind was we have to get this guy back.

He was staring right at me as I pulled the trigger. The whites of his eyes disrupted by a splatter of scarlett as the bullet ripped through his uniform. This was one of the worst parts of my new posting. Having to see the life leave the body and how personal it felt. That was someone’s husband, someone’s brother, someone’s son.

He slowly begins to pack his sniper into an acoustic guitar case. As he walks down the stairs, he turns and looks at his beloved brother that he shot in cold blood. He stared at that lifeless body for hours. He thought about all the memories they both shared throughout their childhood.

The pain brought my hands to my chest, where I found three wet warm holes from which my blood oozed. It took a long moment for the thought to sink in.

Perhaps we do not realize the impact of the petty things we have experienced when life itself flashes before our eyes. Even though our lives are composed of countless moments to remember, sometimes we do not understand how they slowly shape who we are and how we see the world. This is what Tobias Wolff suggests in his short story, “Bullet in the Brain”. The story focuses on the internal journey of a man named Anders when his life comes to a close. A well crafted look into the memories of Anders gives readers distaste for all he takes for granted and demonstrates his lack of sympathy.

He could even feel the gaping hole in his chest. His hand slid over where he had been pierced, he could feel the burning hatred of the bullet seeping through his cold fingers. Hans Hubbermann Junior laid face up, a pool of his own blood surrounding him like a red snow angel. Frozen blood, started to crack on to his cold hands. His appearance became pale and sickly. His grey, cold breaths sprouting from his mouth, drifting into the dark of the night. His mind was racing, it’s true what they say about those final moments, the way your life flashes before your eyes.

INTRO: I never thought I would feel so awful after pulling that trigger and watching that innocent animal give it’s life to me. I was only ten years old and my life was certainly impacted forever. Nowadays, many people think that pulling the trigger of a gun is not hard at all. In reality, it might be pretty easy. It is the aftermath on the other hand that will leave an internal scar, changing a person forever. On my first deer hunt, a young buck stepped out of the dense willow clusters with it’s head down, giving me a shot. Soon I would be faced with the tough decision of taking the life of an innocent animal. Meanwhile, on my first turkey hunt, there too I would soon be changed forever.