I have blood in my eyes. I have blood in my eyes. I have blood in my eyes. And it hurts. Like hell. I can’t see and I feel blind. I should have watched what I was doing. I’m silently screaming, frantically trying to rub the blood off my eyes, but it continues to sting. I hear laughter behind me and someone shoves me to the ground. I fall, grunting when I hit the floor. My head is being pushed to the ground and the scent of stale blood and dirt fills my nose to the point where it is nauseous.

“Should I shoot him?” says a female voice. I feel hands on my back, holding me down and the female voice continues to speak: “Can I shoot him, Ted? You ‘ready shot a redhead dead on this side, can’t I kill him?” She pleads.

“Naw, you can’t. I made him bleed so I’m gon’ finish it off, Kel.” A male voice grumbles—I assume Ted.

“Must you kill me?” I ask angrily, trying to push myself up. “Can’t we be at peace?”

“You must be a mama’s boy. A goody two-shoes boy, that’s who.” Another voice says. Male. “Hey Ted. Cannot I shoot him? I mean, you said the next person I can shoot, plus General Bernays said I could.” The male whines to Ted.

Ted growls, “Y’all are childish! Shoulda come on m’own. Din’t know why I asked for company. Stuck with you two losers.” He sounds angry.

Something whacks the back of my head hard. I couldn’t scream because my face was shoved against the ground. The pain blinds me momentarily before I can push myself free and gasp: “Who did that?”

“He did,” accuses Ted and the other male, pointing fingers at each other. “Naw, he did!” They try to blame the other.

“It was Haden,” the female—Kel—says, rolling her eyes. “Now die, pretty boy,” she cocks her gun at me and—

A gun fires and strikes Haden in the shoulder. Haden howls before snarling, “Gon’ kill that...” He doesn’t finish his sentence because another bullet soars and smacks into his other shoulder. Kel can’t fire since she doesn’t know where the person is and Ted doesn’t have a gun, so he sprints.

Haden hisses, “Kelly, babe, run!” and the two run away. Once they’re gone, I see someone approaching me and my throat goes dry. I stare at the man and stammer, “H-how...? W-when...?” but I can’t find words.

It’s my older brother, Jesse. I don’t get it. I tried finding him for over a year and had assumed that he died when I couldn’t find him. But no. He was here. Right in front of me. I gape at my older brother and say, “J-Jesse?”

“Hey, Jo.” He says, pocketing his pistol. “How’re you surviving?”

*****

I don’t know whether to cry or scream or curse or laugh hysterically... I’m frightened. Unsure. My head spins as I stare at Jesse. The older brother I thought I lost a year ago was alive. I don’t know what to do. So I chose to punch him in the shoulder. 

He winces before saying, “Yeah. Nice to see you, too.” He gives me his charming smile and I nearly sob.

“Where were you, Jesse?” I question angrily. “For the last year, I thought you were dead.” I glare at him. My throat constricts as I whisper, “Why didn’t you ever come to see me?”

Jesse looks anything but sad. Instead, he looks cheerful. “Aw, don’t worry ’bout that!” He says, waving the question away. “It's all good, right, since I’m here?” He cocks his head when I frown at him, the tears going away. He says, “Aw, Jo, what is it?” and I find myself repeating Carman’s words.

“God, Jesse,” I hiss, my hands curling into fists. “What is it? Everything is the ‘it’, Jesse. We’re at war, I’ve been hurting and... I thought I wasn’t going to survive. Thought I lost you for good.” I tremble in fury, in ire and in exasperation. Why was Jesse acting like this?

Jesse shrugs. “The war made me like this,” he admits, or at least I think he does.

We don’t say anything, just curiously look at each other.

“I... seriously Jesse.” I say sharply. “Where were you?” The accusatory tone in my voice is piercing and raw. That linger of frustration comes back with a greater force, a claw of annoyance choking me. “Where were you...?” I reiterate softly.

My older brother snorts, rolling his eyes. “You serious, Jo? Want to know where I’d been?”

Duh. I think angrily. Who wouldn’t want to know where their older sibling disappeared to? I cared for you, assuming you were dead but turns out you’re alive... I swallow fury and slowly nod. “Yeah...” I end up saying to him.

He looks angry when I say that; looks ready to pounce. I reel back, stunned, and Jesse plasters on a faux happy smile. “Was at war, Jo,” he says, trying to act like he is happy to see me but I know he is faking it. Why? I don’t understand why.

Now it is just him and me, staring at each other as if we were strangers, daring the other to say something.

“You were at war,” I say finally, raising an eyebrow. “How come...how come I never saw you?” I grit my teeth, glowering at my older brother. Jesse shifts his gaze to the floor as he mumbles, “S’was at a diff’rent place, Jo.”

Liar, I want to say. Why was I angry, I wasn’t sure. Something inside of me was boiling with rage. Maybe because I thought he was dead? Maybe because he didn’t care about me? Maybe because I was trying to understand things about this war and had no clue how I was supposed to react?

“Fine. Where?” I pressure him and he looks stunned.

“Man, when did you start speaking back to me, huh?” Jesse teases, but there is a glint of uncertainty in his voice. “You finally acting like an adult?” His eyes flash.

“I’ve been an adult since I turned eighteen, Jesse. And you didn’t answer my question. Where were you? What different place?” I snarl. I see frustration in Jesse’s eyes but I’m still waiting for him to respond to me.

“Elsewhere,” he says, and I give up. It’s pointless to argue with Jesse, I remember now.

A bomb explodes behind us, and Jesse swears. “Better go now.”

“Go?! You just got here!” I exclaim, waving a hand around. Disbelief is heavy in my voice as I stare at him, wide eyed.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Jesse mutters. He shakes his head and says, “Fine. I’ll see you here tomorrow. I have to go right now." As if to prove a valid point, another bomb explodes, closer this time. Then he’s gone. Again.

I want to yell at him. Want to say, “What the hell is wrong with you?!” but I don’t. I keep silent like I have for years. It’s better to stay silent than to say something about your emotions, my father said. So, I guess that kind of stuck with me.

Silence. I don’t say what I want to say. I just stare at the direction Jesse went and find myself shaking with anger and confusion, tears rushing down my face because I realize that Jesse is worse than before.

Walking towards the main camp, I notice that General Greenway is slumped against a tree, his breathing labored. Rushing over to him, I ask, “What’s wrong? What happened?” Fear laces in my voice as I glance around and notice a discarded, bloodied sword. “Did you do this to yourself?” I whisper.

General Greenway barks out a bitter laugh. “Oh, god no, boy. Some kid burst out of nowhere and stabbed me in the side. Left me impaled with the sword and ran off. Couldn’t tell what he looked like. Just the fact that he was tall. And yeah…was a boy.” He scowls, clutching at his side.

“Shouldn’t you go to the nurse?” I question him and he scowls again, lips pursed tightly.

“Nah. Tiny cut.” But his face says otherwise.

“Sir,” I press him, “it looks deep. And if you fall, who will help us carry on? Especially after the death of Blackwood...” I trail off and General Greenway has a flicker of emotion on his face, something that reads as sorrow and regret.

“My fault he died,” he says. He grunts as he pushes himself off the tree and reluctantly agrees to go to the nurse.

It isn’t easy to go there, with people screaming and dodging bullets while others madly throwing rocks and sticks in random directions. It's scary how insane the people have gotten.

Upon arriving, the nurse that helped tend Carman bursts out, a wild look in his green eyes. When he sees the General, he swears, saying, “You, too?” and shakes his head, his fingers tearing through his black hair. “Okay. Okay, Noah,” he tells himself, “it’s all good. Do you know who stabbed you?” He inquires, looking sharply at General Greenway.

“Uh... some boy?” He cringes. “Sorry, no. What is it, Noah?”

“Jackson died because someone on the other side managed to shoot Jackson’s lungs.” Noah’s face grows shady, and he chews his lower lip, tears brimming his eyes.

“Jackson... Overturn?” I ask hesitantly and Noah nods, a frustrated yet broken look on his face.

“My brother, yeah.” Noah runs a hand down his face, drawing in a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell Mom and Dad,” he says, shaking his head. “A-anyhow. General, come in.” He leads General Greenway inside, me tailing after them.

Inside, it’s clear that many more soldiers have died. Bodies are wrapped in cloth, blood spattered on the walls. The smell of rotting flesh is revolting. I can’t comprehend what is happening. I just know that I feel like fainting or running out, screaming my head off.

This is too much.

I’m only twenty-two.

What has gone wrong?

I watch Noah as he presses a cloth against the wound on the General whose face is a mask of pain. Noah is clicking his tongue as he furrows his brows, snapping, “Xentia, where are you? Come here now!”

“Yes?” Xentia says, hurrying over, her dark brown eyes wide. “What is it, Noah?” She peers curiously at the General and glances at me.

“It’s a deep wound. Sword puncture. Someone tried to aim for the lung but missed.” Noah sighs, pulling away the bloodied cloth, tossing it at Xentia, saying, “Get a new cloth.”

Xentia bows her head and goes off.

“He’s not going to...” I can’t say the word as I warily watch the General.

“Naw,” says Noah sharply. “I won’t let him die. He won’t die. I.” He pauses, a hard look flickering across his face. He sucks in a sharp breath and shakes his head, wiping his hands on a discarded, tattered towel.

Studying Noah’s face, I realize what he’s thinking about. God, right. I had forgotten. I want to tell Noah that it isn’t his fault but what can I say to him? So, all I do is watch him, thinking about what happened six months earlier.