I had just gotten back home from the war. I barely survived the battle of Passchendaele. The only reason I was allowed to leave was because they amputated my leg and am permanently in a wheelchair.
From the second I got home all I could remember was how I lost my leg and the reason for it. It haunts me and I feel I will never recover from it. It started when my commanding officer screamed my name. “James!” He said it as if I was in trouble but he was just trying to tell me to grab my rifle and join my bunkmate Charles in the fight. I grabbed it along with my bag which was right beside it. When I got to him Charles told me to “Hide behind the barricade, they’re throwing grenades!” As soon as he said that I knew we were in trouble, so I did only I could when one came into our barricade. I kicked it as hard as I could, but I was too late. The second my foot touched it, it blew. They told me I passed out but it's a miracle I didn’t just sink in the mud.
When I woke up in the medical tent the first thing I remember is looking down and seeing all the scarring on my legs from the blast, but the only thing I didn’t see was my right leg. As soon as I was conscious enough to understand them they told me I was getting shipped back home due to the injury.
“James, James.” my mother said “Oh thank God.” she said, sounding very relieved.
“We thought we lost you there pal.” my father said in a joking tone.
“I guess I just lost my train of thought for a second there.” I said, feeling very confused. “Well let's sit down for dinner; your mother made meatloaf.” my father said, sounding very chipper. We sat down and talked about what had happened while I was away. But then my mother asked “How have you been doing?” The only thing I could respond with was
“Other than my leg I’m doing just fine.” But as I said it kept thinking about all the things I saw and couldn’t help but think about the rest of my squad back in the war.
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