• The men were pinned. Bullets ricocheted all around. A single mistake would end any of their lives. Originally a platoon of soldiers, the force was now reduced to just three. One was wounded.
    "What do we do!?" Shouted one of the men. He was young, inexperienced. He was terrified of death.
    The shouting made the wounded man stir. He had already lost a lot of blood. His demise was almost certain. Shrapnel was lodged into his chest making his breathing sound forced. A lung - or perhaps both - was punctured. Even with a trained medic on standby, he would have merely minutes to live.
    "Keep your voice down!" The other man shouted back.
    He was calm. As calm as any man could be in such a situation. Authority emanated from him. He was Platoon Commander Erikson. He had made a fatal mistake by underestimating the enemy.
    "We have to fall back, help me with him." Erikson ordered, nodding toward the wounded man.
    "Y- Yes Sir!"
    The two men moved toward the soldier, being careful to not expose their heads above cover. The relentless outburst of bullets continued. Their supply seemed endless. Erikson continued to move, keeping his breath under control. A ripping pain went through his forearm as a round tore into his flesh. The pain, as well as the force of the projectile, knocked him off his feet.
    "Oh- Oh ********, s**t!" The rookie sounded terrified.
    Erikson looked up to see an explosive drop down in front of him. The wounded man could do nothing but accept his fate. The rookie frantically tried to escape the range of the explosive. Erikson already knew his efforts would be wasted. He closed his eyes.


    "How Pathetic."

    Erikson has heard the voice somewhere before. When he was a child. It was the voice of a monster, and his greatest friend. Erikson opened his eyes. Time has seemingly frozen in an instant. The rookies look of fear frozen at one perfect moment filled with blame. The eyes of his men lay upon him, and nothing stood out more, except The Watcher. The creature towered over the trenches. It would have to get down on all fours to even be considered covered.
    "Y- You. What are you doing here.. I thought you.."
    "were merely a childhood imagination?" The Watcher finished the sentence.
    Erikson paused, not sure how to react. The Watcher stood, his slimy skin shining under the Middle Eastern sun.
    "No my boy, I can assure you, I am much more than that."
    Erikson stood, gripping his arm tightly. He attempted to speak, but in awe of the creature before him, he could only release small gasps.
    "Erikson. You're going to die here." The Watcher delivered the news as smoothly as a hot knife through butter. He spoke, seemingly misinterpreting human emotions. Sympathetic would not be the word to describe it.
    "I.. already accepted that." Erikson managed to get out. He seemed to have calmed down more.
    The Watcher nodded, looking back at the two other men.
    "They trusted you with their lives. You just threw that away."
    "What could I do?!" Anger was forced back toward The Watcher. "I'm not a god, I don't make miracles. I'm just a man!"

    "A miracle wasn't required. Miracles are just stories created by man in order to make them feel better about themselves. Yes, they were efficient enough to surpass the expectation of their peers, but they never created Miracles. Everything is decided by Fate. Even this."

    The pair stood in silence. Erikson sighed, sitting back down on the floor.
    "So, I was doomed to fail no matter what I did." He chuckled, the stress of failing his men having died away. "Thank you."
    The Watcher saw Erikson close his eyes, having finally accepted the events about to unfold. The Watcher flew off, leaving the men to their fates. It looked back at Erikson in his final moments.


    In his final moments, he was smiling.