I push the wet mud pooling around my legs away in the land of Something. Christopher has been my friend since high school, and it is a luxury that he is here with the platoon in Vietnam from all the way back home. We slept back-to-back when it was raining like this, a torrential downpour. It wasn’t too bad until the rain made its way through the thick brush above and slowly dripped on our heads. This way, back-to-back, we could avoid using our bags as pillows and coating them with the wet earth below.
Night proved to be the hardest for us men. We hadn’t had a wink of sleep for a while now, which was the only way to transport me away from this wicked, moist world into a better land. I know that when I need the comfort of Nothing, it’ll return, just like usual. The smell of the jungle was soothing, especially with the moisture in the air from the rain. I close my eyes, tight enough to block out any remaining moonlight, and I focus on the picture of Nothing. I could never get the details perfect; there was always something off, and it was never fully clear when I was conscious. I slouched down, legs extending, and rested my head on Christopher’s back as I drifted off.
***
Ever since I was a boy, I had dreamt of Nothing.
A land far, far away from here, free from the noxious smog and the booming weapons of war. That fantasy land was teeming with the loud sounds of celebratory fireworks. The smells in that dream world were not body odour but exuberant tulips and fresh grass.
The world formed itself around me; my hands touched the soft grass at my sides and squeezed the familiar landscape. The blue skies lit up the darkness I was basking in just moments prior. The signature three Suns lit up the land of Nothing to be substantially more vibrant than where I had been mere minutes before. It wasn’t long before I was greeted by a familiar face, hobbling down the gravel path, which I had taken a moment to lie down on. His antennae were comically combed over like a side part, his eyes large and cartoonish as he stood up formally on two feet. His wings fluttered at his sides with the soft breeze, and he tipped his top hat as he approached. Chris the Cicada spoke in his buzzy manner, not sparing a second to breathe. Some would consider it annoying, but I found his demeanour quite tolerable, even calming. “Good evening, Paul!” He elongated the word good, his voice oozing optimism, reflecting the beautiful town around him. “It’s been a while since your last visit.” Chris looked down at his watch and tapped it twice with his tiny bug fingers before continuing. “Murr has been waiting for another story from the land of ‘Something!’ Dixie, too.” Chris put his hand out to help me up from the gravel road. I took it and pulled myself up without much help from the little buggish figure.
“I have a few stories, not anything crazy. I’m sure you fellas have been up to a whole lot more. Especially Murr with his new job, I bet Dixie is glad he’s finally raking in the money.” My tone was always more naturally optimistic in Nothing. Murr the Moth was a lot like my Father, a plumber who began from nothing. He used to live in a cave a bit further from town with his Ma and Pa. As soon as he met Dixie, his career started to sprout as quickly as a marigold. When I mentioned Dixie, Murr’s wife, Chris seemed a little more distant. He avoided the topic while he led me down the path to Murr’s place, the path I knew well. It was luminous, the gravel roads full of beautiful petals that had a glow to them. It successfully shifted my attention onwards, away from the buildings and onto the road ahead.
***
It was a walk that seemed to fly by. I let my mind wander. I thought about the journey ahead in Vietnam: The long road through the jungle to finally get to Dong Ha and to Camp Spillman. It’d all be worth it in the end; we’d heard the camp had some nice bedding, which was much more comfortable than the ground. The house of Murr and Dixie was very pleasing. The home had a large roof, which was perfect for my routine visits. A beautiful patio wrapped around the home, and Murr sat at the front, a white ceramic mug in his hand and a newspaper with jumbled text in the other. The mug was unlike anything else that existed in this realm— strangely real. Murr always said that the mug came from his son before he left, made from a white ceramic material with black text reading ‘Military Dad.’ When I saw the third Sun slowly lowering on the horizon and the environment breaking apart around me, I knew that it was almost time to leave. I still smiled; anytime in Nothing was time well spent. The past few weeks had been rough, and this bit of extra sleep would be enough to carry me throughout today’s trip. I looked over to Chris the Cicada as he morphed into the face of Christopher, his bug hands wrapped tightly around both my arms.
***
Christopher gave me a firm shake, and I woke up, looking up at him with fatigued eyes. He took a moment before speaking. My eyes adjusted to the darker surroundings, my hands removing themselves from the soft mud around me. Christopher was very concise whenever he spoke, fearful that anything more than a few words might draw the enemy. It was different from home; he used to be the most talkative kid in class.
“Let’s move.”
I groaned and grabbed hold of his hand, pulling myself up. His strength was much more helpful than Chris’s was. The platoon gathered any supplies they had set down, changing their socks, gathering their bags and slinging them onto their backs. We slung firearms around our necks and our shoulders before we began to march forward through the jungle. The platoon leader cut through any vines in front of us, warning us with a hand signal if the terrain was harder to traverse. Sometimes the trees smelled similar to my dream, piney and natural. Many times when my feet ached, or I thought of crying, I imagined the jungle as a place in Nothing. It helped me keep it together, imagining all the sounds of bugs as chitter-chatter.
The weight of the equipment was exhausting. We attempted to travel from brush to brush, avoiding being out in the open for too long in the expansive plains near Dong Ha. The only thing that could pass the time in the silence of the march was thinking about what Murr might say tonight. He always had some story to make everyone in Nothing laugh or some bit of knowledge to impart to someone younger, like Chris or me. Other than that, Christopher would say something funny occasionally to the platoon, and it’d eventually make its way to me through many whispers. We’d laugh to ourselves before continuing to high step through whatever mess was on the ground. The only thing that kept us walking forward was the hope that Camp Spillman was still there and hadn’t been overrun. As the sky darkened and the men’s bellies rumbled in unison like an earthquake—mine included—the platoon leader knew to take a break.
Christopher and I found a stone to sit on so we could eat something that tasted like pig slop from an unlabeled can. It didn’t matter how bad it tasted, as long as it was enough to give us the energy to move forward, we’d lick the can clean. We had enough of the deafening silence for now, speaking in hushed tones in small circles. The jungle smelt like mud and cat piss; the warmth of this natural greenhouse only furthered its intensity.
I shoved a spoonful of mush into my mouth before throwing out a question. “You missing your Ma and Pa?”
Christopher chewed with his mouth open as he answered. “And my girl… but we won’t be out here much longer, I feel it in my knee. Once we get to Camp Spillman, things will be a whole lot brighter.” I nodded in agreement before scooping the last of the canned garbage into my mouth. He continued. “Might be able to get a full night of sleep. That’s all that matters to me.”
***
After eating, the platoon continued deeper into the jungle, trying to find a spot secluded from any potential openings. We settled on a spot about an hour later, open enough to be comfortable and dark enough to be safe. I settled in a patch of grass a bit away from the rest of the men. It was finally dry; the rain seemed to skip over this patch of the forest, or the Sun had dried it out.
I took my bag off, used it as a pillow, and let my hands lie spread wide, wrapped in the lush, various plants around me. Finally, I let my eyes close and focused once again on the people of Nothing and the message they were trying to send me.
***
I woke up in Nothing with a sharp inhale, lying down in front of Murr’s house all alone. I let myself get up, pushing both hands on the gravel to propel myself. The patio was empty now, and Chris was gone too. I knew they’d be inside, the place they usually went after my dream tore itself apart.
I opened the colourful door and let myself in. I traversed through the hall and then into the living room and took a seat on a chair made of leaves. Murr took a large sip from his mug with 10 sugar cubes before brightening up when he saw me.
“Finally, I was worried you weren’t going to be able to come back soon. I have some very big news for you.”
“Good to see you again, Paul,” Chris said cheerfully, raising his mug slightly before taking a big sip of sap from his own mug.
“Couldn’t leave my best buds waiting.” I tried to comfort the moth; he was always stressing too much about things he couldn’t control. Reminded me of Pa, stressing about the world around him, even though he didn’t have any say in it.
Murr cleared his throat for a moment after taking another sip from his mug. “I promised you a story, Paul, so take a seat.” He continued after a second, adjusting himself on his leaf couch. “I’ll tell you a story about Dixie and me. As you probably noticed, she’s gone, been gone for a few weeks now. Ain’t ashamed of it, I thought about you whenever I let her go on her own way. Let her find a new bug to make her happy because I couldn’t.” Murr smiled, and it puzzled me why he would ever smile at such a thing. I was speechless. They’d been together since I was a child; it seemed they worked through their problems just fine. Chris had obviously heard the news already, nodding and silently sipping on his warmed sap.
“That just- doesn’t make sense, Murr,” I added after a brief pause.
“She was dying to leave, Paul, I could see it. I knew that if I let her leave, it’d be less suffering for both of us than if I let her stay and resent me. I did one thing that hurt like hell, Son, I may even regret it. It was worth the chance, though, so she could live a happier life.” Murr explained.
I began to make some sense of it, even if it came as a shock; all I could do was listen and stare. I looked at Chris needingly, begging for him to break the silence. I didn’t even know what I wanted from him. He spoke softly once his glare met my eyes. “He’s right. How do you think I felt when I had to give up my house because it was the perfect spot for an ant hill?” Chris took another sip of sap before placing his mug down onto the table of sticks in front of him. “I wanted to fight it, but I realized that the ants could use the space a whole lot better than little old me. Now look at them, Arthur the Ant is working his gaster off helping to build new homes all over the place.” He stood up and checked his watch, tapping it afterwards as he usually did. “You’ll have to leave soon, but I hope you try to stick around. I’ll pour you some hot sap.” Chris the Cicada walked away with his tiny stick legs into the kitchen.
I didn’t want to say a word to Murr. His decision was hard to wrap my head around. I wondered when and if I’d ever be able to see Dixie again. I imagined her with a new bug, and I couldn’t. I simply kept my eyes glued to my feet on the wooden-planked floor of the home and let my brain rest. I let that hazy filter come off from everything so I could get a break from the forced, cartoonish optimism. However, that’s when everything became more real; the once animated floors looked so realistic, each plank of wood stained intricately. I heard Chris return and looked over. His small legs had changed now. He wore military trousers covered in dirt, and made large stomps credited to big, rubber footsoldier boots. I blinked twice in my now conscious state and looked up at the new figure’s face, holding that mug of sap. It was Christopher, with dirty blonde hair just as messy as the last time I saw it, with the same faint birth scar under his left eye. He was here in Nothing with me, holding the mug out for me to take like everything was normal, like he was still that smaller bug I’d seen earlier. Across the couch, where Murr had just been silent, sat Murphy. Everyone said we looked similar with our dark hair, identical eyes and smile. He was my Father, looking just like he had 10 years ago when Ma had left.
“It’s alright, kid, you’ll be able to see her on weekends.” Pa said.
The home transformed into my old family home. The once colourful walls full of paintings had become dull and colourless. Christopher smiled as he faded away beside me. Murphy stood up, heavy steps on the hardwood floor as he approached. I stared up at him. My breathing was rapid and deep, choking on my own air. His hand gently rubbed through my hair. He believed that only seeing her on weekends was enough, that he’d done something right. The walls caved in on themselves and tightened around me. Tears filled my eyes, and I brought my knees closer to my chest; the walls tightened even further until I could no longer move. It became hard to breathe. I fell into a deep void.
It had felt like forever in that darkness before I woke up.
***
I was back in the jungle when my eyes snapped open. Nobody in the platoon was awake, but I couldn’t bring myself to shut my eyes again. Instead, I went and switched positions with the designated lookout. He said he had a few hours left in him before the swap, but I insisted. There I sat, on the only chair we’d brought with us, in the darkness, listening to the forest. I sat there with my thoughts, with the memory of my Pa, the memories that flooded back of younger Christopher and me. Most of all, I thought of Ma. The last time I saw her, she’d found a new man; he was nice, but nothing compared to Pa. She was happier. I had never seen her smile that much. When I wasn’t thinking, I was watching the nothingness, and the night passed by just like this. Surrounded by the darkness of Something and the snores from the louder soldiers until the platoon woke up.
***
Today was the day to make it to Camp Spillman, the platoon leader was sure of it, and said if we didn’t make it yesterday, we’d surely get there by tonight. So, just like the many days before, we trekked up hills and through thick grass in the jungle. We held onto toppled trees while we navigated up slopes. When we could see the end of the large jungle, the platoon leader took one more step forward.
Thwoop.
His foot got caught in something and he froze in an instant. To me, it looked as though he’d just gone into some extra deep mud. However, It pulled tight on his boot, so tight that he toppled forward, and his ankle twisted and crunched audibly. Our medics rushed in to try and cut off whatever had felled him, but they too ran into traps on either side of the platoon leader. Screams replaced the silence of the platoon, gunshots whizzing by our heads moments after. The men in the traps were the first to go as a squad of Vietnamese soldiers closed in. Their screaming stopped as the hot metal barrage of bullets landed deep in their skulls. The rest of the platoon, including me, managed to get behind a large stone. I looked over, and some men held their heads and curled into small balls. Others, including Christopher, peeked over the sides of the large rock and returned fire. I managed to garner enough confidence to fire back, and one of my shots met with the enemy’s figure falling down in the grass. I peeked again, and a shot rang out towards me, landing directly on the top of my helmet. The bullet vibrated exponentially before it was sent flying off my head and down a hill.
Our small group of men was warding off the much larger enemy force. Christopher screamed something incoherent through the gunfire. He pointed towards Camp Spillman, where US soldiers were running to assist us. We’d only have to last a little bit longer, stay safe behind the rock until backup could arrive. I smelt blood.
The new army we had garnered from spillman began to retaliate as they approached, readying their guns and firing on the Vietnamese. The backup was intense and enough to get the enemy to duck behind a tree. I peeked from the rock again, hands shaking as I attempted to make sense of the situation. Many of the Vietnamese soldiers had fallen, only a few were left which could be taken out by our reinforcements. I was hopeful until one of their arms peeked from the tree and threw something, it looked like a stone.
When it landed directly beside me I realized the stone was a grenade. It was completely gray with a ridged body, the pin had already been pulled. I looked towards the US soldiers who were closing in and firing at the Vietnamese forces. I looked at Christopher and the surviving members of the platoon. I dove onto the grenade and shoved it under my body weight.
My eyes shut tight as if I was going to sleep, but I didn’t go back to Nothing, I only saw Pa, smiling.
Owen Argo is a first-year creative writing major at Brock University. He has always found joy in writing since he was very young. He has hopes of becoming an author and teaching high school students. He believes that fiction writing is one of the most important things to do in order to expand your creativity, no matter your skill level.