The Noble Cause

“Don’t leave.” She whispered to him, afraid that he would.

“I won’t.” He whispered in her hair, pressing her body closer to him. They had been on a journey through the outskirts of an Afghanistan town. It had been save for almost twenty  years and they saw an opportunity to visit Afghanistan, so they did. They booked a drive through the country, to visit the most important towns in the war. After a few days they stopped in small town to talk to the people. They were very friendly and hospitable, they even showed them around the little town.

Out of nowhere a gunshot was heard and she slumped to the floor. He ducked as quickly as he could, crawling all the way to her. The people of the town vanished before he could blink. And there they were, on the middle of the road. She was bleeding, the bullet gone completely through her midsection. He didn’t know what to do, except for pressing onto the wound, both of them. She was sitting in this lap, her head rested against his chest and tears were flowing over her cheeks.

As he felt her warm blood streaming from beneath his hands, he couldn’t stop the shiver that run down his spine. They were miles from the nearest hospital and he wasn’t sure that the shooter had left. He knew it was hopeless.

“We should have gone to France or Italy.” She whispered softly, her voice full with guild and desperation.

“We should have, yes.” He whispered back, his voice thick with sorrow and sadness.

Although they had been everywhere, including France and Italy, he knew that she was only saying this, because she was laying there bleeding out. They were both adventurous people, so they both weren’t to blame. If they’d gone to France or Italy, they both probably been bored to death. He cursed silently in his head, that had been better then her dying her in the middle of Afghanistan.

He pulled her even closer, which was almost impossible and pressed sweet and soft kisses in her hair. A silent tear fell from his left eyes and fell onto her hair.

“Don’t.” She whispered, her voice full of sorrow and regret.

“What?” He whispered surprised.

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry over me.” She whispered, her voice on the edge of breaking.

He swallowed hard, still not able to accept the fact that she still did think that she wasn’t worth it. That she wasn’t worth  to be loved or even cared for. He met her only 4 years ago, on a bridge. They both wanted to bungee-jump, but were both to afraid to jump off. They met on the railing of a bridge and both stared into each others eyes. Before they knew they linked their hands together and both jumped of off the railing. After that moment they had been inseparable. He had shouted at her when she deliberately tried to end her life with some stupid stunts.

She stopped after that, always asked him first before she did anything that could be dangerous. It made the relationship a bit tense but she excepted the fact that he loved her. And now, he heard that she still didn’t believe how much he loved her.

“Don’t be stupid.” He said through gritted teeth.

“I’m not.” She said softly.

“Yes, you are.” He said, ignoring the fact that she was bleeding out. “You still don’t believe that I love you more then life. That you are important to me. You still believe that you don’t to deserve to life. That’s stupid.”

She remained silent, burying her face against his shoulder and after a minute she started to speak again. “You don’t know me.” She started softly. He wanted to interrupt her but she silenced him with a press of her index finger. “I’m not who you think I am. I’ve killed many people and a lot of people want me dead, so I guess they’ve succeeded.”

“You’re not dead yet.” He pointed out softly.

“I will be soon.” She softly said.

They remained silent for a while before he said: “So what, you killed a few people. I did too in another lifetime. I bet there are people who want kill me too.”

She lifted her head for the first time to meet his gaze. He looked at her with an honest expression and for the first time he saw her for who she was. He remembered a picture in one of his textbooks in college of a little girl pressing a button with guns pointing at her. The button was rigged to numerous bombs in a city in Tunisia, when it was pressed thousand of people died.

“You weren’t to blame, you were only a little girl forced into pressing a single button.” He said softly kissing the her forehead.

Her eyes grew wild when he recalled that horrendous memory of her past. She realized that he now knew who she was and he still didn’t let go. She blinked at him confused and he only smiled at her. A shiver ran down her spine.

“I’m cold, sweety.” She whispered softly.

He nodded, because he already knew she was slipping away. It was still in the middle of the afternoon with the burning sun above them. He noticed he was sweating, but didn’t wipe it off, because he didn’t wanted to release her wounds. It was still 40 degree Celcius. He let his head rest onto hers and closed his eyes. He knew it wouldn’t take long any more, before she closed her eyes for an eternal sleep. He sighed softly and started to rock her softly.

After a while he heard the shuffling of shoes in front of him and opened his eyes. He was instantly blinded by the sun and lifted his arm automatic to shield his eyes from the sun. A person stood right in front of him, aiming a gun right at his head.

“What a tragic love story, we got here.” The man said with a thick Arabic accent.

He grunted only and pressed his hand again on the wound of his beloved.

“She’s been dead for almost 15 minutes. Stop trying, mister Hammock.” The man with the accent said. “Now for you, you can still flee and hide.”

He snapped his head up to meet the mans gaze and gritted his teeth. The man knew who he was, he probably was the one that killed her.

“Mister Hammock, don’t be stupid.” The man said and pointed the barrel of his gun closer to him.

“Shoot me, I don’t care. I must be punished for my actions.” He said and closed his eyes, ready to take the bullet.

“Fine, have it your way.” The man said and pressed the gun against his temple. “Goodbye, Mister Hammock.” And then the gun went off, driving the bullet inside his brain and the last thought he had was: “Sacrifice is the only true noble cause.”