He hid.
“Hey, Tim! The hell are you doing?” Conklin asked. “You gotta shoot, man!”
Tim froze.
“Tim!” Conklin shook him. “Man! Man we could some supporting fire! We’re in a war here! Help us out!”
Tim gazed squarely into Conklin’s eyes. He swallowed, perspired, and trembled. A blast shook the earth beneath him. That was enough. Tim pushed Billy Conklin away and bolted into the jungle. He ran. Where? Fuck where.
Tim ran until he could take no more, until the horror was far away, until the flashing lights faded to the heart of darkness. He panted and struggled to keep his footing. When the fatigue subsided, Tim felt suddenly alone. But he was safe. He found a large rock and sat down on it. The blasts and death were far off, no more than a distant whisper. Tim did not yet feel remorse.
The starry Vietnamese sky watched over him. When Tim looked up to the heavens, he saw the beauty of the infinite expanse. He could only wonder at the cosmos; only ponder its unending mystery. When Tim looked beyond the jungle, beyond the planet, and even beyond the galaxy up to the beauty of that untouched by war, he forgot why he fought. There is no beauty in war. Tim wanted to believe that he had left the war behind. He wanted to see beauty again. War, what war? Never mind the uniform, never mind the rifle. Damn the rifle lest it damn you!
Billy Conklin limped out from the jungle. Tim stood. Conklin bled, two bullet holes in his fatigues. Tim dropped his rile and ran to his friend. “Oh, God, Billy, what happened?”
“The hell do you mean, ‘what happened?’ You happened, you bastard! You bastard, you pushed me out of cover and right into the enemy! You bastard! You fucking bastard!”
“I’m sorry! I don’t — I don’t know what I was think—”
Conklin retrieved Tim’s rifle and held it out. “Take your rifle and let’s go support our platoon!”
Tim laughed uneasily, “You — you think I’m going back there? Hell no.”
“Tim, you can still atone. If you go back, I won’t say nothin’ to the sarge. Come on!”
“Atone?”
“You ran! You fuckin’ shot me!”
“I’m
“No, Tim, I’m gonna do my duty! You should too.”
“No way.”
“If you don’t come,” Conklin winced in pain, “I
Tim trained his rifle on his friend. “I can’t let you do that! They’ll kill me!”
“Come with me.”
“No!”
“So, what, you’re gonna shoot me? No, you won’t,” Conklin shook his head. The sun slowly crept over the horizon. “You won’t shoot me. I’m going. Come with me or don’t. Make up your-”
Tim opened fire. Conklin’s gut burst in glorious gore. Without saying a word, Conklin dropped to his knees. Just as he seemed to speak, blood filled his mouth and ran down his chin. The look in his eye was neither of approval nor horrible acceptance, but of betrayal.
He stumbled back to the rock and sat. While the sun rose past the trees, Tim realized his regret; his crime. Omega came from behind him and walked over to where the murder took place. She scanned the grass and retrieved the shell casing. Tim watched her approach and she whispered, “You fired this shot.”
“It should be me. I should be the one dead.”
She sat beside him and put her hand on his. “You will, papa. You will die.”
“It’s what I deserve.”
“There is nothing left to be done, noting left but to accept. Accept what you deserve, accept your fate.”
“Yeah,” Tim sighed. “I never grew old, did I?”
“No, papa,” Omega answered remorsefully. “Your life ends early.”
“So, you,” Tim swallowed, “aren’t real?”
“What is real?”
“I never had a granddaughter.”
“No, you never had a granddaughter. You never married. You’ve never even seen Canada.” Omega let go of his hand. “Stand up.”
Tim did as he was told. “What happens now?”
She pulled his hands behind his back and bound them together. “Close your eyes.”
“Talk to me! What happens now?” Tim trembled and his eyes watered. His squinted them shut. “Talk to me!”
The knot tightened. Tim suddenly found his arms wrapped around a wooden pole. Omega gently touched his shoulder. “It’s time.”
“No, wait!” Tim opened his eyes to find only darkness. Something covered his face. “I’ll take the rifle! I’ll fight! I’ll do my duty!”
“Present
Omega whispered into his ear, “Papa, there is nothing for you to do but accept. Don’t resist. Accept.”
“I’m sorry — I’ll go back! I’ll
“Take aim!”
“Hush, papa. Make peace. Hush and die quietly. This is the end.”
“No! Stop! I’m sorry-”
“
The rifles raged, spitting deathly lead. Tim felt his chest pierced, his bones shattered. Blood trickled down his chest. He winced in horrific pain and his body fell limp.
The black veil was pulled off of his head. He saw Omega once again. She put her hand on his cheek and said, “Rest in peace, papa. It’s over. It’s all over.”
Tim looked into her eyes. “I could have had you. I could have had a son and then a granddaughter — I —”
“Hush,” she whispered. “Say goodbye. Don’t wish for more. Don’t hope for better. This is the end.”
“You — you’re an angel, aren’t you?”
“Goodbye, papa.” Omega removed her hand. Tim watched her walk away, leaving him behind to die.
“Please! Don’t go!”
She turned and said, “I must leave. It is time.”
“Just — just tell me what you are.”
Omega whispered, “I am that which haunts your every nightmare. I am the common thread binding every man, woman, and child. I am the shadowed specter of every end and the inevitable result of every means. I am the darkness ending all tragedy. I am the final act. I am Romeo’s poison and Juliet’s dagger. I am the setting sun and the darkening of stars. I am the assassin’s gift. I am life’s antithesis. I am Omega.”
As Omega left once more, Tim finally understood. He watched her fade away into the horizon of eternity. Tim drew his last breath. It was not laborious or painful. There was nothing to it whatsoever. Sensation, particularly pain, had long subsided. Feeling, however, remained, but not in any physical sense. Tim felt two things: peace and acceptance. It was as reaching the end of a book. All of the chapters are over; there is nothing left but to turn the page.
And so he did….
It Isn’t Over Yet!
If you want to learn about
