Soldier’s Prayer Caked with blood and dirt, he fought in righteous fury. Gunfire resonated in his ears and traveled down to his heart. Corporal Whitmire was unconscious, carried over his shoulder—six more miles to go before they reached safety. Sean had fought with the corporal since they were put in active duty for the Marine Corps and he wasn’t giving up on him now. There was too much waiting for them on the other side of this battlefield. Whitmire had a little girl on the way and somewhere out there in a safer, kinder world where the civilians were protected, the love of Sean’s life was worried about him. They had to make it home. Come home, Castor had begged of him. The ground beneath him erupted into fire and debris. Still they survived, still they waged on. The coppery stench of Whitmire’s blood permeated the humid air, but Sean held fast to hope. If – No, when – they returned to safety, Sean would stand beside Jamie Whitmire and they would receive their medals. They would be honored for the death and destruction that had been strewn across this land they now walked on when all they desired was to see their loved ones. On the verge of attack at any given second, Sean would have sold his soul to see Castor one more time, even should it be the last time—Just one more chance to look into those green eyes. Sunlight blinded him when they at last emerged onto the sand that was stirred by the rotors of the helicopter. His ears were ringing and he was distantly aware of someone shining a light in his eyes. Belatedly, he noticed that he had fallen to his knees, that Whitmire had been lifted onto a stretcher. Men lifted Sean and helped him into the helicopter, a dark skinned nurse checking his vitals. Voices faded to a hum. Then it all faded to black. When Sean next woke, he was surprised. He had not expected to wake at all. His eyes opened to the harsh glare of fluorescents. The room reeked of antiseptics and sickness. He knew even before he saw the IV in his arm that he was in the hospital. Bandages were wrapped around his abdomen. He looked beside him and saw Whitmire still unconscious but heart beating steadily according to the monitor next to his bed. The green line rose and fell in a melody of beeps that were sweeter than any music. “We made it,” Sean croaked, not caring that the words were unheard by his sleeping comrade in arms. Only then did he notice the disheveled dark head, so different than his own blonde hair, resting beside his arm. It rose up, now, at the sound of Sean’s voice. Castor stared at him for a long few moments before almost breaking into tears. He stayed strong, though, as he always had been. His fingers curled around Sean’s and clung on as if his love would be torn away by duty once more. After eight months of separation, and more to come if Sean went back into battle, he only said, “You came home.” Sean looked into those green eyes, stared at his answered prayer. He smiled. “I’ll always come home.” Cassidy Rodgers Age 15
28 | Kids in Print 2013