Kaleidoscope Facets

Bullets rained from the sky like a horde of locusts in his native Georgia. Raising a cautious eye and shaking his head to get the stray brown curl out of his sight, he leveled his rifle and aimed at the nearest enemy soldier. In an eye blink, the German was writhing on the ground and he was safely down in the trenches again, readying himself for the inevitable next shot he would fire. Such casual atrocities were the way his life had been for the past three months, and it felt like forever since he'd been a simple farmer with his wife, Mae, and young daughter, Amelia, by his side.

"Clear," the sergeant barked. "They've retreated."

The man breathed a sigh and leaned heavily against the earthen wall of the trench in Godforsaken France. Tiredly, he wiped his blue-green eyes with the top of his undershirt, taking care not to get the sulfurous grime and dirt into them. Sleep was a precious commodity these days, and he'd been napping when the skirmish began. Trying to shrug off the impending nap, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the latest of the cherished letters from his wife. Reading it, he could feel the years creep up on him as he realized that three years had past since that day in 1914 when he had left for the war. Amelia had only been two when he'd left, and he closed his eyes, heavy with sleep, to picture the five-year-old, eagerly awaiting his return.

* * * * * *

"Leave me be!" he rasped at his daughter, who sighed and adjusted his grandchild on her hip.

"Now, Papa..."

"Don't 'now, Papa' me, young lady! You're not too big for me to turn over my knee and spank the livin' daylights out of, you know! I'm perfectly capable of getting my own glass of water, thank you!"

"Papa," she placated as the old man dropped the glass he'd been trying to fill, his hands still shaking violently. "Please, let me help."

His face contorted into fury. "I can take care of myself, daughter! I don't appreciate you wastin' your time, tryin' to take care of a man who doesn't need your help."

"Mama wouldn't want you to be helpless and try to muddle through," she reminded her father, settling her young child in his lap. "You watch Becky a moment while I get your water."

"Bah!" the man mumbled, halfheartedly playing with the child. "You're such a cute thing though."

* * * * * *

His wife turned from the stove. "Yes, and such an agreeable child too. She's hardly made a fuss since we brought her home from Atlanta."

The man smiled at his wife. "She's beautiful, Mae. Just like her mother." He sighed. "Amelia may not have a nice world to live in if the U.S. gets involved in that durn war with the rest of them Allies."

Mae walked over and sat beside her husband and new daughter. "She'll have a fine world, if her father has anything to say about it."

* * * * * *

"...even if her father has anything to say about it," Smith, the young private from Tennessee, continued, "I'm still goin' to marry Ruby-Ann, and we're goin' to settle ourselves down in them beautiful Tennessee foothills." His small audience laughed with him as he continued his story.

The man blinked. "Where am I?" he asked softly to himself.

His tent-mate Celles looked at him, worry etched in his craggy face. "Hey buddy, you feelin' okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little dizzy." His eyes drifted over his surroundings: the dirty, surprisingly cheerful men, the squat little candles that provided their only light in the encroaching twilight, the stars that were just beginning to come out in the battle-scarred skies of France. "I could've sworn I was somewhere else just now."

Celles lit a cigarette, a prized possession while they were in the middle of nowhere, and looked somberly at him. "You're just in need of guidance, and you're lookin' in your life for it. David, in wars there ain't a God. There ain't nothing but a bunch of men tryin' to survive. I don't blame you for retreating into your private world for a time. I don't like my life right now either."

"It was so real," David murmured, picking up a wrinkled and faded paper from the ground. "I guess this letter from Mae's just got me thinkin' about home."

* * * * * *

"I wrote you a letter?" Mae asked, meeting his eyes from across the table.

Quickly glancing at the napkin in his hand, David blinked. "Could've sworn," she heard him murmur.

Amelia continued slipping food to the dog as Mae's eyes narrowed in worry. "David, your mind's been wandering since you got home from France three months ago. Did something happen that you didn't tell me about?"

His brow furrowed as he tried to discern the origin of the nagging confusion her statement brought. "But I was still in France," he remembered suddenly. "I was in the trenches with Celles."

Mae got up and knelt beside him. "David, Celles is dead. You were right beside him, and he pushed you behind him when that shell exploded in front of you both. You were lucky that you just got a little shrapnel in your leg."

"I was just taking to Celles!" he yelled angrily, standing and beginning to pace furiously in the kitchen. "Mae, I swear to you..."

* * * * * *

"Papa!" Amelia protested, plucking Becky from his arms. "Mama's not here. You're daydreaming again."

He stopped, staring at his daughter. "Amelia," he said slowly, "you're just a kid. When did you grow up?"

She raised a worried eyebrow. "Papa, maybe you should lie down. You don't look well."

He balled his fists in frustration. "I'm fine, Amelia! I saw you ten seconds ago, slipping food to the dog while your mother tried to accuse me of not being well!"

* * * * * *

"David!" Celles hissed, tugging at his pant leg. "Get down! You want the Germans to see us?"

"The Germans?" David asked dazedly, trying to sort out his muddled thoughts. "Where's Amelia?"

"Get down!" Celles hissed again, frantically signaling the others.

David sank to his knees. "I was just there with her, in my kitchen. My granddaughter was with her, and she thought I was insane."

"I don't doubt it," Celles muttered. "David, your daughter is only five. That's a little early to have kids."

"But she was thirty!" David protested. "Celles, I know I sound insane, but I was there. And Mae is dead!"

"David," Celles said patiently. "Your wife just sent you a letter. She isn't the one who's dead."

The world began swimming away...

* * * * * *

David found himself in a trench in the middle of Trépas Field, staring at a battle. "David!" Celles yelled. "Watch your back!"

David whirled, numbly watching the shell in a slow, time-distorted spiral. Watching it, he began to gasp for breath, bringing his hands to his throat as the shell exploded. Time resumed as he fell gracelessly to the ground, watching Celles stumble and kneel hastily next to him.

Celles visibly repressed his gag reflex and stared down at David. His eyes were full of sorrow, yet seconds later they seemed to morph and distort, becoming the worry-filled eyes of his daughter, and morphing still became the loving eyes of his wife.

He realized that he was dreaming and tried to open his eyes, writhing as he realized that he couldn't breathe.

* * * * * *

The chlorine gas floated past the convulsing soldier, effectively poisoning him as it had so many others. The soldier abruptly became motionless, his head sliding to rest peacefully against the earthen wall of the trench. The pink stationary in his hand fluttered lazily from dead fingers to the ground, the slimy mud of the trench just beginning to blot out 'Love, Mae.' Its deed done, the chlorine gas moved on to stalk its next victim.