The Puzzle Pieces

By Aanya Sharma

Pain.

The sound of my best friend’s body hitting the ground next to me.

Is there anything better to pass out to?

*****

Unlike me, Mark didn’t get up again. I only lost an arm. So many others lost so much more. I had watched so many people, braver men and women than I’ll ever be, lay down their lives for their country in combat.

My old uniform is still hanging on my wall, the black of ‘Richard Hill’ creating a dazzling contrast with the gold of the nametag.

I look back upon myself when I was younger, before the war, and I realise that I had never helped my people. I had never done any sort of social service whatsoever. I feel so ashamed of who I was back then. I used to think that we are all separate. My actions could never impact someone else. But fighting in the war? Watching the utter unity between my fellow soldiers and I? That made me realise that I am part of something so much bigger than myself.

It wasn’t just on the warfront either. After I was deported and sent back home, I spent a lot of time observing my neighbours. I watched as all the children, including two-year-old Lucy, came up to me every day and read me their favourite stories, sung me their favourite songs, told me their favourite jokes, because I was the soldier with only three limbs, who had watched the death of so many. It was probably only because of them that I didn’t descend as far into depression and isolation as I could have. I watched as Edith Rose, who was ninety-six, knitted sweaters everyday to send to the soldiers in the colder regions of the war. I watched as everyone in the community, no matter their age or gender, came together to send as many rations and donations as possible to the veterans representing their country. I watched as every week a train laden with things left to the waiting soldiers and veterans, hoping to make their lives at the frontlines of a war a little easier, a little more comfortable.

Everything I saw helped me realise that I am a part of something so much bigger than myself.

We are all just pieces of a puzzle, and only together can the beautiful image of our nation be formed.

By Aanya Sharma