Personal Narrative-Aesthetic Soldier

I remember the click of a rifle cartridge being loaded into an AK-47 outside of Chu Lai. That instant I felt an urge to dive for cover. I didn’t even think about it, I just dived over purely by instinct, one that was never taught during training. It just happened in that moment, just as a spray of bullets were fired in our direction. Despite my natural instinct to dive for cover, a bullet still managed to find its way to my thigh and embed itself into my thigh, making a nest out of the flesh it ripped through. The landing put me on my side and inside of the jungle grass that I instinctively sought for cover. From there, I saw bits of the fighting: a grenade explosion in the distance where the enemies were hiding, traces of the supersonic bullets flying through air, and a several spurts of blood from both sides. At one point, a VC soldier stumbled upon me and

Earlier that day I stuck my memo pad in my right pant pocket, a change from the breast pocket that I normally store it in. It was a small memo pad, small enough to fit comfortably in my hand, worn down by the elements from its journey through the jungle and featuring some string looped through its spiral wire to act as a lanyard. Written in indecipherable handwriting was various useful bits of information, such as HQ’s frequency and things that I would want to report back to HQ. The memo pad slowed the bullet, reducing the bullet’s speed enough to prevent it from puncturing the artery it nested right next to.
To this day, I have no idea how true my recount of that fight is. War does things to your mind. Adrenaline and fear amplify the experience and create moments that you will try to forget, but never be able to forget. I don’t even know how true the story of the miracle grenade is, only that it made that scene that I won’t be able to forget. It’s probably just another absurd war story, as true as the story of the bullet wound in my