Am I Alone?

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  • Published: 2 Jan 2017
  • Updated: 2 Jan 2017
  • Status: Complete
Wilson is my name. I seem to be the only one who realizes it, and the only one stuck in it, but I'm alone. More alone than anyone at school. I've done research, and mastered years of social skills, but I never can get past school friends in a relationship.

All I want is to hangout on the weekends with real friends, but I don't have that.

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1. Am I Alone?

I throw my rifle into the dirt, abandoned by my comrades, using me as a sacrifice for their own lives. The Germans had surrounded me, and I would surely be taken prisoner, or killed. They spoke their jargon, and forced my face into the dirt. Despair crowded my soul as the battlefield crawled forth with ever intensifying agony.

It was at this moment, my entire life came to me, it spoke to me. I had regrets, but I couldn't change those problems to begin with. Life was tougher on some people, and easier for others. I wasn't bullied in school. It was much worse.

In third grade, I began to take notice and comprehend other kids around me. Some boys were oblivious to how much they were favored by the crowd of kids then. I won't list many names, but if I'm remembering correctly, the boys name was Peter. 

Peter had everything, I was so jealous of him throughout my elementary years, more kids like him showed up later, but I  became so upset at one point, I remember throwing the hall pass at him. No, I missed, and hit the girl beside him right in the face, Ms. Lewinksi, looked at me as if I was mad. I got a week's detention. That made me boil inside.

Later on, I had grown accustom to the rough way things were. Fifth grade was a quiet year for me, I barely talked, and the girls often didn't take notice of me. When they did, they would do terrible things like pass me a sheet of paper, wondering if I would go out with them. A curious boy I was, and I said yes the first time it happened. She quickly laughed at me, and acted as if it were a joke. When I took her in all seriousness. I admit, too young I was to date, but what young boy wouldn't have been honored?

Middle school was bittersweet, I met my first real friend there, his name was Elijah. Elijah and I grew up with similar stories and heights. So we were immediately buddies. That would change. By my last year of middle school, I was beginning to blossom, into a more extrovert person, experimenting the grounds my classmates had already uncovered years ago. Was I still naive? Very much so. 

Girls seemed more friendly, and I got more attention from people acting a fool, and being silly at every moment possible. I was the evil class clown, the interrupter, the teachers nuisance. I still laugh at the memories I had of those times. 

This was the first time I had actually experienced a thrill to be sociable. Most of my classmates didn't even know who I was until my eighth grade year. Which was very depressing. Things at school were hard, but things at home were harder, my dad was suffering from cancer, and my mother was in no condition to take care of everything. We suffered from pretty harsh times financially. Nothing compared to what Elijah has suffered though, he hadn't found Jesus, and wouldn't if his life depended on it.

Anyways, high school came around and things just became even tougher, girls had already broken my heart, I had major trust issues, people drug me down for no damned reason. I tried to be a reasonable honest guy to people, and they tore me to shreds. Peter had grown very aware of his immense power among the women, and most of the guys too. I'd lost hope in becoming his friend after freshman year. We actually got to know each other on a more personal level then, but he had something to him. Something that changed me forever.

He was an asshole behind the curtain. Cute, soft, and fuzzy to the public eye, but all he did was observe others and judge them. Many people do that, but too manipulate someone. to use someone, and to never be invited to a single party, was inconceivable.

I threw a party my seventh grade year, everyone showed up. Threw one the year after, eight people came. It felt as if people had made an agreement not to interact with me after that point, as if I was not important enough for them. I lacked relevancy in their lives. Even though I tried to be friends with people, they pulled me down, and made me feel like shit, without lifting a finger. How, how is that possible?

Elijah found a lover, and we lost our friendship over time, it sort of just faded like the rest of my years. The rest of high school was just there, it wasn't anything special, my life had been taken from me.

Some people just aren't born to have friends, some people aren't meant to be happy. That is surely my curse. 

The Germans drug me up to my feet, pushing me forward, and edging me closer to their headquarters. I'm guessing they are taking me to who is in charge, possibly to weed out any information I have and give them anything on the United States.

"The War to End All Wars", World War One, a terrible time indeed. World War Two, a massacre. World War Three? A showdown between the US and the new Nazi party. In 2019, there was a coup, everything was taken over, government and all. Military was quickly industrialized, and mass produced. Germany quickly seized all of Europe. Nuclear weapons weren't even a factor in the war. 

Now, here I am. All alone in this hell we call war. A whizzing sound zipped from behind me, and a loud screech echoed with wicked, pure pain. It was one of the German soldiers, he had been shot square in the knee, crunched over he whimpered.

The other men quickly turned to face their opponent. It must have been US reinforcements. As the Germans were quickly picked apart, and the crossfire ceased once the unknown shooters had become victorious. I leaned, humped over on my side, as a stray bullet had found its nest in my shoulder. I just now noticed that? 

Limping over towards the rubble, I heaved. Out from behind the mess, came a single man. He walked towards me, and his crude face, slowly came over me. I washed out, as tears flushed me. It was Mark, a twenty year old kid, blood covered his face, while he was smothered with tears.

"...Wilson, the squad's gone. I could have made the retreat...if--I hadn't come back for you, but who would leave a frie..nd behind...am I right?" Mark smiled, his blood stained teeth chattered, as his hand fell from his side, unveiling the massive bullet hole that had hit his lung.

"No! Mark, I'm gonna turn you over on your side okay?" I bawled. 

"No,  Wilson, it..it's okay. I'm too far gone, I've lost too m..much blood." As I saw now his entire vest was drenched in red, his skin was too pale. I can't treat him, and HQ wouldn't have enough time as it is to save him.

He lay on his side, looking at the glimmer of death, striding closer by the very second to him. His eyes became dull and lifeless. Then, when it couldn't get any worse, he let his final breathe go, and said to me, "I was there, looking for a friend too...and it just happened to be you."

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