I always remember it seemed like a stupid waste of money and I wondered if the guy had nothing better to spend that money on than a stupid ass horse, the old nag probably never would have made it past the starting gate with an owner like that. Now I looked at the guy, he had stopped yelling and lay there still, his eyes were still open but he wasn't there. He had blood all over and his mouth was open a little, like he was still trying to yell.
Close by another guy was on fire, he couldn't get up and run, his leg was bent up at an unnatural angle and the other leg was cut pretty bad. I crawled as fast as I could, still dizzy, dazed and bleeding all over the ground. I whipped off what was left of my pant leg and started hitting the flames with it and tossing sand all up on him.
My body was starting to get weak and I saw after I put out the flames that I was bleeding out of my stomach, the guy I helped was passed out but alive, and even with the feeling of weakness and the look of all my blood around me I knew that I had helped this man, my brother, to stay alive.
Now I knew I was dying, I tried to stay calm but, a medic knows. I knew. I layed on my side as my organs started to shut down and it got harder to get air in my lungs. Now all I could hear was my own labored breathe and a faint sound of peoples voices all around me. And that was the last that I saw of my life. A hot, dirty, stinky road of sand with bombs on it. It sucks it had to be this way, but it's a choice I made when I enlisted I guess, I knew it could happen, I just didn't believe that it ever would. But it is what it is, I hope the guy I helped makes it out alright then this shithole will have one less life to claim because of me.
