Ce qui va suivre est issu d’un travail en anglais où nous devions écrire une histoire à partir d’un événement historique. Comme j’ai pris énormément de plaisir à l’écrire je vous la partage en espérant que vous apprécierez ce changement de registre ! (je m’excuse par avance des fucking mistakes that I’ve made, je suis loin d’être bilingue et encore moins écrivaine !)
Our shoes had been in the mud for too long. We were all fillthy, thin and pale. Any doctor would say « cadaver-like » instead of « pale » but noone wanted to be compared to a deathly-looking man, especially us. But above all else we were tired. Some were sleeping while they were leaning on a wall, at least what seem to be a wall. Others could not even close their eyes without thinking about corpse, blood and mud, it was indelibly printed in their minds.
We were stuck in a little town, at least what a town could look like in time of war. After three harsh days of walk in the Vietnamese jungle, suspecting any noise, this village appears to us from nowhere. We were 125 at the beginning, but after 3 months of war we were now only 20. Some had been killed by the enemy, others by the hunger and a few took as hostages. I could not imagine what they have been threw. We had also lost a part of the troop after an ambush by the second month.
The enemy was lively, we were weak, he knew how to live in the jungle, we only knew how to survive, he was patient, we couldn’t wait to get out this bloody hell. It was horrible, above all what we could even imagine. Noone will never tell you how nerve-racking war is. The majority of our group was 20 years old. We were irate against the government, they didn’t tell us in what trap we were enlisted, they only stole our youth in order to resolve an insolvent issue. I was remembering every speach the army told us, about how it was a honor to have us in their troops, how we would bring peace back in the country. At the moment it sounded well, they told us we embodied hope, a better futur and we believed what we heard. But now, all I thought was : « Bullshit ». We were nothing, just some puppet the government used to keep up appearances. We did not give a fuck of what the world governance could think, we only tried to save our lives from the bullet of the enemy. The moment of respite were rare but when we faced one we enjoyed it as much as we could. I remembered every of them, as insignificant as they were, it was at our scale, a moment of happiness. And it was in this little town somewhere lost in the vietnamese countryside that forgot the presence of the enemy. A simple song gave us more than a simple smile. I remembered, it all began with a whistling. One of us was looking at a picture of his girlfriend, behind it was written the first words of a Rolling Stone’s song. He was always keeping this picture in his jacket. Then he started whistling the melody. The song had been released few months before our leaving and it was an indispensable work. Every one knew the lyrics or at least the tune. It was the first step of one of the most beautiful moment we had there. The moon was raising up in the asian navy-blue sky. Some stars were about to shine, they just seemed to wait the ascension of the big luminous crescent moon. It was an otherworldly sight that the nature seemed to give us. We started to embrace our deformed shadow throwned on the walls. We had made a fire to protect us from the wild animals so we were not discreet at all.