Thread: Safety (Some violence)

It was a cold starless night in Baghdad. A soldier gazed blankly out of the second story window of the building his platoon occupied. This was his fifth tour in the Middle East, and he regretted ever listening to his father about enlisting. Looking out of the window he saw nothing but buildings. Some were on the verge of crumbling from car bombs, and others remained untouched by the war. As he turned back to his bunk, he saw something small in the corner of the room. Approaching the area, he saw a small scorpion. He emptied his cigarette pack of the last two smokes he had left and carefully scooped the light brown scorpion into the box. He picked up his rifle and walked outside hoping to use up his last two cigarettes. He had never liked smoking, but it relaxed his nerves and now he was addicted. When he got outside, he saw the same thing he had from the second story. As he leaned against the wall, he placed one of the cigarettes in between his goggle strap and his helmet. He placed the other one into his mouth, struck a match, and lit the cigarette. In the distance, two headlights appeared on the one-way street. The soldier put out his cigarette and placed the cigarette box on the ground next to him. The red car had not stopped at any of the houses or slowed down. He readied his rifle, aiming it at the driver’s side of the car. As the car came closer, the soldier placed his finger on the trigger. In the driver’s seat he saw the face of a young Arabic man. He saw tears in the young man's eyes as he sped the car closer and closer to the building. He took a deep breath and fired his gun. The shots echoed in the silence. The soldier saw the blood splatter on the rear window. The scared young man was now dead, but the car did not stop and crashed into the soldier, exploding. All he could see was a white flash of light.
He opened his eyes. It was night still. His face was covered in sweat, and his body was trembling from the realistic shock of his dream. The soldier’s eyes flooded with tears. He buried his face down into the pillow and cried himself to sleep.
The next morning the soldier awoke to the sun in his eyes and a crick in his neck. His gear had been on since last night, and its insides were damp with sweat, which did not bother him too much because it cooled him when a breeze passed by. He picked up his rifle, which was lying against the wall under the window he had stared out of in his dream. The soldier walked outside and climbed into the back of the Humvee for their daily patrol. As the vehicle drove on, the soldier stared blankly out of the window. The streets of Baghdad looked as busy as always: children played, men and women shopped, and the sun reflected a bright gold off the buildings’ burnt sienna walls. The Humvee stopped a couple of blocks down at the new building at which his platoon would be staying. He and the rest of the soldiers in his humvee and the soldiers in the other two Humvees behind them got out of their vehicles. All of the men but him went inside to inspect their new home. The building was two stories high, the same as the last one, and looked structurally sound from the outside. This building, however, was much more susceptible to car bombings because now instead of being at the end of a one-way street they were in the middle of a two-way street. As the thought of a car bombing passed through the soldier’s head, he found the urge to smoke. He reached into his pocket, and as the soldier opened the pack he saw a small light brown scorpion at the bottom of the empty box. Disturbed by the déjà vu feeling he was having, the soldier reached around his helmet and found the cigarette he had placed behind his goggle strap in his dream. His stomach flipped. If what had happened in his dream was happening now, then a car bombing was sure to follow. The soldier stood outside for hours; every once in a while the other soldiers would shout out the second story window urging him to come inside. He responded with silence. The street had been untouched since his convoy arrived, and every car that drove past looked deadly. His heart jumped a beat when a red Volkswagen turned onto the street. The car was beat-up and small. White fuzzy dice were clearly visible though the windshield. He looked at the driver; it was the young man from his dream. The small car sped towards him as he lifted his rifle and aimed down his sights just as he had in his dream. He squeezed the trigger, but the trigger didn’t budge. He squeezed again; the trigger didn’t move. Suddenly the soldier realized his dream was going to come true; he was going to die. He lowered his rifle and accepted his fate. The small red car started to slow down and then stopped a few feet away from him. The young Iraqi stepped out of the car, a thin brown package in his hand. “ Why didn’t you kill me?” the soldier asked nervously.
“Because you didn’t kill me.” Responded the Iraqi. The soldier glanced down at his gun and saw that the safety was on.
“Do you know what I was told before I drove out here?” The Iraqi man asked.
“No.” the soldier responded.
“My instructions were to kill you only if you tried to kill me.” Both were silent for a moment, and the thought of telling the Iraqi about his dream entered his mind. The aftermath of telling him was unknown and that was a good enough reason to keep his dream a secret.
“Here.” The Iraqi man said as he handed the soldier a brown package.
“What is it?” the soldier asked.
“It’s the bomb,” the Iraqi said plainly.
“Where’s the detonator?” the soldier asked calmly.
“I am the detonator. If you had killed me, the bomb would have exploded. Here, take my gun too.” The young Iraqi said as he pulled an M9 pistol out from his waistband and pointed it at the soldier.
As the soldier reached out to grab the gun, three shots echoed in his ears. Everything before the soldier’s eyes appeared in slow motion as he looked into the pain and sadness that screamed from the bleeding Iraqi’s eyes. As the Iraqi’s knees hit the ground, the color washed away from his face, and then he was gone. The scared soldier then looked over at his fellow soldier, who had unknowingly taken his life as well. His face was serious and focused, and his eyes looked cold. It was like their very color had been stolen away by the bullets that pierced him. A single tear trickled down the soldier’s face, and with a loud explosion and a white flash of light, he was gone.

It's not badly written, but I couldn't believe many of these things could happen. A suicide bomber who is told not to explode the bomb unless he's attacked? A bomb that can sense the life-essence of a man? A soldier who doesn't remember the safety? It was a dream, but there was still a scorpion in the box? The basic idea is fascinating, and I enjoyed the story, but I couldn't "suspend disbelief." You might consider altering the details a bit.

Hope that helped.

JohnB