Wilfred Finch Monologue

His name was Finch, Wilbur Finch. Dead. He died from a shot to his lower abdomen. His eyes were cold, drained, and dead. Amongst all of the other fallen soldiers, he stood out the most because of his bold brass ornament that hung from his uniform. A token of remembrance to the days of the past, one where no war was fought. That Finch boy, back in the barracks they said he really knew how to light up a room. Laughter spilled from that corridor and into the mess hall. His family, passed away in a gas leak a few years back. I never really knew how he could keep all that sorrow contained. Some couldn't even cope with the reality of being dragged into some goddamn war when most of us don't even know what we're fighting for. In my ignorant years of being a I always thought guns, tanks, and going war were cool, some macho aesthetic that most boys look up to--now I don't even know if any of us will even make it back. At least the Finch boy knew what he signed
up for, bragging about how he would at least take an army of radicals down with him; he didn't even last a month. In the winter of 1987, I remember snuggling up to the fireplace in the living room thinking that when I grew up I would have a purpose, some accomplishment that I could call mine. Even if I would never get out of this old town, I would have something to at least call mine, something perfect. Most kids that age would think of what they would want Santa to get them that Christmas, or what his little helpers were working on in the workshop. For Christmas this year, I would like to go home, who knew that you would want to return to a place where you dreaded so much that you pleaded for any chance at all to leave. At least the town was quiet, it was a quiet old town that held many memories, ones that could be treasured for some time. “It’s a compliment, silly” her voice echoed in my eardrum. “What is?” I said, cluelessly. Senior year of highschool , I was a complete wreck, nothing was going well at either school or home. Being almost 18 and unemployed, I was definitely not ready to grow up. I didn’t even know what I was going to do after high school. It seemed like an empty void that sat there, just inching closer and closer, knowing that inevitably I would eventually have to parallel this void. I was at my girlfriend's house for the weekend, it was a sanctuary where I could go to feel like I belonged. Her parents were nice, and welcoming, which reminded me of a good book. They always appear to be thick, dusty, and something that would seem difficult, and time-consuming to tackle on, but once you start reading it, it entitles you a world that you wouldn’t imagine stumbling upon. “This, I like this, when you can just forget about everything and just let time stop. It’s times like this, that I don’t want to ever forget. You make me not want to forget.” she whispered in my ear. “Why would you forget? You have a big heart, plus you’re selfless.” She let out a small chuckle from those sunkissed lips of hers. “You’re too kind to me.” “I definitely try not to be.” It was that day I realised, it wasn’t the ideal of being a noble person, and going to war.
It was to see a future where your loved ones would be safe, and you could guarantee that they would be safe. At the same time, it wasn’t just that--I wanted to be something, something to be remembered for. In history class, you learn about all those greats--yeah most of them claim the name of something from someone who probably spent hours doing research. However, the ones that truly shine, are the ones who give back, the selfless ones. I enlisted myself after graduation, I said my goodbyes, and left for training camp on a monday. My girlfriend, she spoke to me once after that. A couple of years later, a final call that ended it all. It felt like a trophy, after winning something you’d never get back into ever again. It was her that I missed out on, and her that I would never forget. She said to stop leaving voicemails. Had she have had any empathy that day, she might’ve stopped me from leaving that silly little
town. In the first few weeks of enlisting, I admit it was harder than expected. It wasn’t exactly like the movies, how they would throw you in boot camp and expect you to grow a pair and toughen up overnight. It had something to do with a high amount of respect, respect not only for sergeants, corporals, generals, but respect for yourself too. I learned many things from enlisting. One of them was why I left everything behind. On October 3rd 2003, it was the first time I’d seen someone die. What I couldn’t stop thinking was, all those memories, happy, sad, a mix of emotions piled up into a heap, and thrown into the dumpster. They had a life too, they must’ve had beautiful moments, ones where time would just stop, if not just for a moment. That moment they would never forget until now. It was my fault too, it was my job to cover him in the heat of the moment; I’d strayed too far from the squad. He died because of me. The crimson blood stains on my hands weren’t the only signs of my guilt. “I’m sorry, I had to.” I whispered quietly. I asked for forgiveness, but it was too late. He already faded away. I looked at the brass trinket that hung from a pocket of his tactical vest. I was selfish, and it was only in my interest that