Fighting Regret

It was a dream…

… I was a soldier in the mist of a skirmish outnumbered and on the run. My platoon was slowly getting picked off as we push through a silent coastal town. There was no hiding nor thinning out of their numbers and our running felt futile. Soon I was the last man left sprinting toward a large warehouse by the dock. I burst through the gate and inside was an upward slope reaching the other end. I dashed to the top as enemy troops swarmed in behind me. As I got to the top I decided to make my last stand.

I will die for what is right; I will not give in.

My finger pressed hard on to the trigger and hoards of soldiers fell as they attempt to storm up the incline. But as my eyes focused in at their bodies levelling to the ground I noticed a familiarity. Their uniforms was the same as mine. Whom have I been fighting all these time? I stopped and surrendered my position. The fighting instantly stopped. The soldiers dropped their guard and continued to march pass me as though I was one of them. The bodies I’ve cut down piled on the bottom of the slope but there was no reproof from anyone. Just empty foot steps moving forward, moving pass. I stood still as the only one left with regrets. The only one who knew what I’ve done. A ghost of his past.