Run. Run. Run. Perspire. Run. Shot. Shot.
He took his knife out in hustle bustle. Holding the knife with the right hand, he tore the pant where he was shot. Bleeding. The flow of blood was unstoppable. I love you. He took in hand the torn piece of cloth and wagged it over his skin. Come back soon. As the blood was soaked, that palpable wound undarkened itself. Promise me you will be back soon. And the bullet inside was slowly taking his breathes away from him. He knew it. Yes I promise I will come back in a month. He knew his life won't last for too long. It was vanishing like the fog vanishes after the arrival of the sun. Still three more days to home. He scratched his wound and gave himself the sheer pain by inserting the knife in his leg to take the bullet out of it. I will come, don't worry.
He shouted from the lowest part of his throat. The scars and wounds which were on his body were way less than what existed inside him. The fear of failure and the torment of breaking his promise were eating the other part of his soul. He forced the knife in then pulled the pain out. Silent lamentation. Pain. Dreams being broken. Slowly getting away from everything. Existence of his soul fading away. But one thing still dominated him. The taste of victory.
He heard the thumping of legs. He knew they were coming to him. He was not the runway person. He took his gun out and waited for them. Your wedding cards are distributed. He took the soil in his fist and rubbed it on the wound over his face. Celebrations have already started, awaiting you. The squishing of footsteps increased. He knew they were heading towards him. Your wedding dress has already reached home. He saw them. They saw him. They were the enemies, not only his, but of the whole nation. Fire. He responded them double their intensity. Killed one. I have to catch the train tomorrow. Killed second. He was wambling on the ground. I have to be there on time, everyone is waiting for me. Got shot in his right arm. Got shot in stomach. Bhaiya I can't wait for your wedding. Killed the third one as well. Yes, yes, I'm coming home. Stumbled upon his knees and fell on the ground.
He killed all the three of them alone. There wasn't anything as important to him as his motherland was. He finally reached his home, exactly on the day he promised them to come. He also brought with him the whole troop of soldiers as well. But he couldn't be spotted in them. Where was he? His mother ran here and there in excitement. I'm finally home. Brother stop playing hide and seek, shouted his sister. But I'm here only.
He was brought in a coffin. His body was wrapped around with the national flag. The way he was lying there, was itself narrating how proud he was when he took his last breath. No death could be as better as dying for your country while protecting it, were the last words in his diary which he wrote a day before. His duty was over, and he knew he won't remain alive after this war. Yet he stayed and chose to protect his motherland. Salute.
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