The Monster I Let Go

    September 28, 1919

        Dear Journal,

    I continue to be restless after all this time. For the past week I have gotten only a couple hours of sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see vivid memories of the war. The trenches filled with death and disease, the men that lie on the floor emotionless and still, and one specific man who I cannot seem to erase from my mind. It is all over now, the leaders have signed their peace, the city has continued to rebuild and all is solemn. Except, when the sun goes down, my mind stays up, and my head replays the same scene. I am back on the battlefield, in no man’s land. We all charge at one another, our weapons armed and ready for our first victims. I could only see about 3 meters ahead of me, since all the smoke was surrounding us. There’s a sudden blast from the ground, one of our grenades. I see a man fly in the air and fall head first into the ground. His uniform had red lining indicating he was an enemy soldier. I cocked my shotgun as the unconscious body struggled to gain balance, he was wounded. As he stood tall, his head slowly turned toward my weapon and gazed upon it. We were both still, but I could feel him trembling. I studied his face to see if he was thinking of doing anything. He had a long face with a small short mustache that sat right above his thin upper lip. And then came his eyes, they were a gray-ish blue that was similar to the color with an overcasted sea. The eyes didn’t shift or wander, just still and focused; there was no sense of fear or anxiety, which shook me to my core. The image of his eyes is what makes me sleepless. It was like staring into eyes that were already dead, and yet there he stood before me; motionless. I had my finger on the trigger, one slight movement and he would hit the ground, but I hesitated. The man had no weapon, could barely breathe, and knew that his death lay right before his eyes, but how could I take the life of something so defenseless? Even in a fist fight I knew that I could knock him out in one swift move. What I saw before me was a child with a future, he was young and had potential. How could I take that away? Who gave me the right to do so? In the end he was a stranger, and beyond our feuds he was human, just like me. Made for so much more than some sort of pawn to be used in war. After these thoughts circled in my mind, I lowered my gun and nodded him to leave before I could change my mind. And like that he ran through the smoke and I never saw him again. I don't even know if he survived the war. Little do I know he could’ve been blown to pieces moments after. But it’s those eyes that continues to keep me up at night. Why was there no fear? Did he not care to live? Why did he continue to stare back? He didn’t even beg. I always wonder what it would mean if I had killed him. In ways I hang guilt upon myself because I did not destroy the enemy for Britain. But if I did, I do not think I could live with myself knowing that I killed an innocent man. The sun is up now, I cannot seem to shake this scene away. Wherever he is, I hope he is living a prosperous life and that God has given him a second chance. I hope he knows that his life is worthy and important to society. Wherever he is, I hope he is doing what he believes is right. Exactly a year from today, I chose that man over my country.

Sincerely, 

                Henry Tandey

September 28, 1939

            Dear Journal,

    It is currently midnight, and I have no appeal to sleep anytime soon. Today I might have one of the most amazing and most horrifying things I have ever laid my eyes on. It was him. I saw it in the papers and his picture was on the front page. I knew the second war was happening, but I was not quite sure by who. It wasn’t long after that I saw his face, short mustache that sat upon his thin lips, long face, and the eyes. I did not have to see the color to know who they belonged to. The eyes that kept me up every night, because every time I closed my own, those were all that I saw. The eyes that did not matter how deep you looked into them all there was was oblivion. The eyes that made you want to crawl to your own grave, all that you saw was death. All I can think to myself is, is this my fault? Am I responsible for the blood of men that are getting slaughtered on the battlefield? It was just a couple months ago that I could finally gain sleep and become sane, but how is that possible now? What can sleep do other than fill me with demons of my own past. My mind has never slept since that day September 28, 1918. It has now been twenty-one long years, and my actions have haunted me every minute. Why is it I that feels guilty for sparing this man’s life. That is if you even consider him a man, people think he is not even human. I used to believe that he was just like me, a survivor. I know now that the only thing I let go of was a monster. How was I supposed to know that his greatest weapon was something that could not be loaded with ammo? No one told me that he would lead a genocide effecting millions. I should look forward to another series of sleepless nights. From this day forward I will never forget his name: Adolf Hitler. The monster that I let go.

Sincerely,

        Henry Tandey