They're just Fireworks-Just Fireworks

He was just a ten-year-old, fighting for what he believed in. Even if his causes left him facedown in a ditch. He peeled himself off the ground and staggered back home like a drunk man.

He collapsed on the bare wooden floor of the poor apartment they lived in, and hazily noticed that he was getting blood on the floor that she had just swept the day before. 

He wondered whether his ma would be mad at him- She wouldn’t, right? 

---

His ma came back home from the hospital around 6 o'clock. He doesn’t remember how long he was lying on the floor. He just remembers the scream that was uttered from his ma’s mouth as she rushed to him, shaking him awake.

“I wanna go to bed ma,” he choked out, fighting back tears. Because men didn’t cry- He had to be strong. For his ma. 

His ma dragged him over to the bathtub and rinsed him off. Gently wiped his face with the old rag, wetting it and gently wiping the blood off his face. The bathtub turned a deep shade of red as she kept wringing the water and blood out of the rag.

“William, you’ve got to stop getting into trouble- Don’t pick fights you can’t handle,” she said softly as she rocked him back and forth on their old wooden rocking chair. It squeaked against the worn-down floor with every movement, but William didn’t mind. He nestled into his ma’s old gown, yawning. “Okay ma,” he replied sluggishly, frowning ever so slightly. His mouth felt weird. He turned to the side, out of his ma’s view, and spat something into his palm. A tooth. He wrapped his shaking hands around it and closed his eyes.

---

Everyone was riled up for July 4th. Kids shrieked and screamed, chasing each other around. Men roamed around the pubs and bars. His ma said that those kinds of men were “nonsense men”, and that they were the ones that always ended up in the hospital. She said that it was also where she met his pa. 

“Was pa a nonsense man ma?” he asked. His ma pursed her lips. “No, he wasn’t,” she would say. “He was a different kind of man.” Her eyes wandered, unfocused as they started to water. "A different kind of man." He never pushed it from there. 

What kind of man was his pa?

---

Later that night, he heard noises. Voices arguing outside their apartment building. His ma pursed her lips anxiously as she paced softly around the kitchen. She kept glancing towards the door. The voices grew louder and louder until they were right by our door. His ma stopped pacing and went still. She ushered him towards the pantry. He looked around, frightened and confused, but didn’t argue.

She shut the door and put her hands over his ears. He twisted his head around, confused. 

“Ma, what’s going on-” he started. 

And then he heard it. 

A muffled scream. 

And then a-

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK

And it didn’t stop.

His ma was shaking, and so was he. 

“They’re just fireworks,” she muttered to him. “Just fireworks,” she said as she rocked him back and forth.

He heard more screams.

Just fireworks.

He wondered who she was really trying to convince.

---

Operation Neptune

Normandy, France

June 6, 1944

He’d lied.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

Is it really lying if you’re doing it for a good cause?

He wondered what his ma would have said. 

But she was gone. Fell real ill until one day she had to be taken to the hospital. She never came back. He got jammed into an orphanage.

When he had heard about the war, he thought it would be the right thing to do. Some of the other boys had also tried to get into the army, despite their age, so why shouldn’t he? Wasn’t he supposed to give his country everything he had? 

After all, he had nothing left but himself and needed to do something with his life.

So here he was. 

A sixteen-year-old, fighting in a war. 

The landing craft rocked back and forth causing water to drench them all. The vessel was crowded with men. Men that sweated. Men that worried about their families. Men that swore they would come back home for what they left.

He’d left nothing behind though. 

---

They all surged forward the moment they were dropped. The sea was rough and fought with every movement. By the time he’d reached the shore, he was exhausted. His clothes and pack were waterlogged and his muscles ached. But they all kept going.

The sand was slippery under his boots as they all started to advance. Some of them made it to the ditch. Some of them were left behind in the sea. Some of them were shot on the shore.

None of them looked back. They just kept going.

He took a second to catch his breath. Someone asked for dry amo. He handed them a small black box. Someone asked about the men they’d left behind in the water and on the shore. Everyone went dead silent for a second. But they recovered fast, continuing to load their rifles and to fix up wounds the best they could. He absentmindedly wondered what his ma would say about their stitching and workmanship. He quickly got rid of that thought before he could delve any deeper into it.

Someone shouted that they all had to get off the beach and they all got ready to move. He heard the words Ready and Go shouted over the popping and crack of gunfire, and he surged forward with all the other men. He scrambled out of the ditch and started running. Something whizzed past his ear and he tensed up. But he had to keep running. They all had to if they didn’t want to get struck down.

The dark smoke settled over the beach like a deadly blanket of death. He could barely see his hand in front of his face. Soldiers darted along the beach, doing their best to avoid the jagged pieces of twisted metal that jutted out of the sand. Nests of barbed wire seemed to spring up everywhere. 

He’d never felt so far from home.

 Somewhere overhead, two aircrafts whirred and growled overhead. The gunfire ceased for a moment before he heard a loud boom from a while away. Sand whipped around him as he squeezed his eyes shut, blindly putting a step in front of another, trying to find his way towards the ridge.

He passed concrete bunkers lined up in rows, guns pointing out of the gaps, ready to fire. He raced past them and advanced onward. He reached the village and the grip on his rifle fell slack. 

The village was pretty much gone. Houses were reduced to ashes and flames that were carried along with the wind. Smoke spiraled into the air, making it hard to breathe. He cautiously made his way down the ridge. 

More planes thundered overhead and he halted, skittering briefly down the sharp decline. He quickly stumbled down to level ground and kept walking. 

He checked house after house for anything that might be useful. Maybe a first-aid-kit, or even extra rations. But everything was gone. The houses were all empty as if their occupants had completely vacated.

Maybe they did. Or did they all-

He cut off that thought with a sigh, and trudged forward, rifle in hand. 

---

He was about done when he heard a small cry.

Or at least, he thought he heard something. 

He should have gone back to find the other men and regroup, but he hesitated.

He made up his mind and ran back towards the village.

---

“William, you should stop getting into fights,” his ma had said. “But ma, some people need help! I can’t just stand there and watch them get beat up!” he argued, an ice pack pressed to his knee. His ma raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips into a thin line. “So I can stand and watch you get hurt instead?” she snapped. He opened his mouth to talk back, but no words came out. He shut his mouth and looked down at the floor. Her expression softened immediately. “Oh, William-” she was cut off by him shuffling his feet against the floor. 

“Ma, if I’m not big or strong then what am I?” he mumbled, eyes watering. But he didn’t cry- He couldn’t cry because he had to be strong- He had to be strong for his ma- 

She sat both him and herself down in the old rocking chair. “So you may not be strong. You may not be the toughest, tallest, or fastest. But you have a big heart. And that’s all you and I need, right?” He nodded hesitantly, tears leaking out of his eye as his ma rocked them both back and forth. 

(He didn’t try to stop the tears this time.)

---

He quickly jogged, looking around and listening to find the source of the sound. He stopped outside a run-down building. It reminded him of the orphanage he stayed in. He entered, sure to keep his hands on his gun.

There was a small scuffling noise and he turned his rifle towards it. He narrowed his eyes and tried to see what was down there. He found a set of steps and hesitantly followed them down.

He had just touched down to the bottom of the stairs when a gun barrel was pressed to his forehead.

---

In the dim lighting, he could make out the silhouette of a girl. Barely his age, but nevertheless, holding a gun up to his head. He lowered his gun and raised his hands up. The girl’s hands were clenched around the rifle, shaking. 

“I’m not afraid of you. I will shoot,” she growled through gritted teeth, pressing the barrel deeper into his forehead. He didn’t flinch or move a muscle.

“I come with the Allied powers,” he said softly. “We are here to help.”

She barked out a laugh. “Just like you helped burn down our village? I should kill you right here and now. Allied or Axis, you’re all destroying lives.”

“We’re trying to save them. Just like I’m trying to save yours,” he growled back.

Her grip on the gun faltered. He seized the chance to speak. “They are dropping bombs as we speak, and despite the balloons, some of them have managed to break through. You could stay here- Or you could come with me. I can get you somewhere safe.” 

She stared at him for a few seconds but then grabbed something in three long strides, easily making her way back to him. “Lead the way,” she growled. “Turn on me and I will not hesitate to shoot you.”

His eyes squinted to see what she was holding, but they went wide as the thing in her arms let out a soft wail.

It was a baby.

She slung the gun over her back. 

“Your stupid war better be worth it,” she said as he led the way upstairs. 

---

He frantically ran with the girl into the woods. With every step came the sound of gunfire. The baby started crying, drawing unwanted attention.

The girl grimaced. He grabbed her arm and dragged her into a nearby cave. He heard the sound of footsteps rushing right outside. He prayed that the baby wouldn’t make any noise. Then he heard the sound of gunfire and his heart clenched. The baby was a clear tracker. If it cried-

“Shh. It’s okay,” he muttered softly to the baby. “It’s okay. They’re just fireworks. Just fireworks.” 

The baby seemed to take that as a valid reason to fall asleep. The girl gave him a sharp nod and started to rearrange her gun, holding the baby in the nook of her arm. 

“Let me,” he said, quickly adjusting the straps. 

The girl narrowed her eyes but allowed him to do so.

The sound of gunfire sounded much farther away now.

“We should be going soon. Before the sun goes down,” he advised. The girl nodded stiffly in agreement. 

---

They had just about made it to a nearby town just before sunset. The sky was a rosy pink with yellow and red hues poking out of the clouds. That’s when trouble showed up.

A German soldier. Clearly lost, but he had a gun. And was pointing it at him. 

His breathing grew harsh as he wondered if he could run for it. Probably not. He’d be dead the second he moved. 

He just hoped that they’d win the war. And that the girl would make it back safely. The German soldier had brought a finger down to the trigger. He heard a loud crack. 

---

He stumbled backward, looking down at his chest.

---

There was no blood to be seen. 

---

The German soldier collapsed like a puppet as if having its strings cut. He fell to the ground, eyes empty and unseeing. A bloody hole through his chest.

The girl stood behind him, rifle still pointed at where the soldier had stood. She quickly stood up, still holding the child, who was wide awake now.

They exchanged a silent nod and quickly made their way over to the town. 

---

They stopped right outside. 

“Thank you,” the girl said to him. He mock saluted her. 

“The name’s William.”

“Rhea,” she replied.

He nodded. “ You have good aim.”

She cracked a smile. “Thanks.”

She unclasped the bracelet from her arm. It was a peculiar thing, seeming like bronze branches twisted together, and a rose blossoming out of the thicket.

She handed it to him. “I want you to take this. Don’t bother arguing.” He quickly shut his mouth and held his arm out for her. The arm covered in dirt, mud, and blood. But she put it on anyway.

She stepped back and rushed towards him, embracing him in a kiss. His eyes widened as he fell for her. 

She drew back with a wistful longing that they both felt.

He unclasped his dog tag and gave it to her. “Don’t forget me either,” he said softly. She nodded and put it on. 

They parted paths.

His ma would have liked that girl.

He knew that with an indefinable certainty.

---

Brooklyn, U.S.A

July 4th, 1960

He’d finally grown up. 

He wasn’t naive anymore. He’d seen men burn alive during the war. He’d seen people fall to the ground lifeless seemingly millions of times.

When the war was over, he was glad. He was done. He just wanted to live.

So he settled down. Made a family with a woman named Carol. She’d never be Rhea, and she understood that. 

(She was fine with naming her daughter after the women he loved.)

July 4th had arrived. 

Some things never change. The children will always run around with sparklers, playing tag and chasing after one another. Men will still sit at bars and pubs, drinking.

He’ll always be with his family- The family he made now and during the war. 

---

The time had come. He climbed the ladder with his daughter, feeling his joints pop a little. 

It was a good time to be old.

They sat on the roof for a while looking at the stars.

He subconsciously rubbed his bracelet as his daughter hummed in his lap.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack and a boom. He tensed for a second before relaxing.

A burst of color lingered among the stars before dissipating, just as another burst took its place.

“What is that daddy?” his daughter asked, her brow furrowing. He cracked a smile.

“They're just fireworks. Just fireworks,” he said, bouncing her a little. She let out a giggle as her hair was tousled by a hot summer breeze. 

He chuckled along with her, hand clasped around her bracelet, looking up at the glowing moon.

---

Little did he know that a woman clutched a dog tag all the way over in France and was also gazing up at the same glowing moon.

“Fireworks William,” she said with a smile.

“Just fireworks.”

---

She looked wistfully at the moon before heading back inside the house to her family. She hesitated just before opening the door.

---

He got down from the ladder with his daughter, gazing wistfully at the moon for a while before heading inside to his family. He hesitated just before opening the door.

---

“I didn’t forget you, did I?”