NO TIME

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by Michael Bradshaw

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I killed a man one day some time ago. It was so easy. Reactions mostly, just bring the weapon to shoulder, take quick aim and squeeze. Feel the nudge of its recoil and hear the loud crack of the muzzle and it's done, in no time.

At the time it was right. I'm a survivor and it was necessary for continued survival. No emotion, only a reaction based on the instinct to survive. And afterwards no time to consider thoughts of compassion or empathy. The danger of being killed or horribly mutilated was constant, ever present and unrelenting. No time to weep. No time for sorrow. No time.

I was but a boy given no time to develop into his manhood. All the nuances of that wondrous period in life when a boy in his teens becomes a young man were seemingly snatched away and I became a man in an extremely abrupt manner. No time to try on different hats. No time to delve in boyish dreams. No time.

A mere twelve months, just a year out of a whole lifetime, but that year seemed as though it were an entire lifetime. And when it was up there was no time to re-adjust. One day it's life and death and the next it's normal day to day living back home. No time for pride. No time for welcoming. No time.

And all this time since, some thirty years or more, has only served to fester the unhealing wound I have in my heart and soul. This is no time to ignore it. There's little time to try repairing it. No time.


Michael Bradshaw, Sgt. E-5
E Co.- Recon, 1st/501st Inf., 101st Airborne Div.
I Corps, RVN 1967-1968