Pushing the Front

By Jordan Resnick

Ballistics rip in the distance, guns popping muffled by the trees. Blood pools from my gut, my palms glisten red. The inside of my skull knocks with persistent thuds. My hearing turns into a high pitched scream. My vision blurs, and I watch myself fall.

I blink. Fuzz filters my view. There are faces leaning over me. Three bodies in space. A grid comes into view, styrofoam ceiling panels speckled with gray.

Someone speaks to me in an alien language. Somewhere distantly I recognize this as my own.

“Drink, ya?” the closest face leans in, his details clarifying. Mud green eyes, a thin, squashed nose, and an M-shaped hairline offers me a cup of broth. The steaming liquid burns my tongue. I wince, this contraction spurts more blood. The medic-soldiers panic. They apply more pressure on my lower abdomen, pressing pads on the gaping smile of a tear. 

Blood loops in the back of my brain. My head rushes, everything escapes up my gut. I blackout.

Propellers thump. Swishing my head to the side, I look out the corner of my eye. Jungle mesh is festooned against gun metal gray walls. A massive engine hums underneath me. My body vibrates. I let go, feeling the vibrations course through me. In the middle of my numbed abdomen I feel a tear. Thick pads hold the wound close. Loose wetness oozes to the surface, soiling the bandage red.

I groan, bringing to attention the soldier stationed above my left shoulder. Our country’s defense medallion dangles on his chain. I see him shout, the buzz of the aircraft blurring my ears. He looks frantic at the other soldiers mobilizing to reach me.

I smile, feeling the irony of their concern. We fight to kill and preserve life on the same coin. They apply pressure on my stomach, spittle flying across my body. 

Eyes open, I watch my soul leave my body and I am tethered in harmonious duality. I watch myself being prodded by camouflage men while seeing myself hovering attached by a kite string. The soldiers worry as I smile wider. In my gut, below the wound, I feel certainty that there is nothing that can harm me. My spirit smiles. My head lolls back as I allow the engine’s vibrations to take me in.

Cold lights flash. They flicker with my motion. Light, rest, light, rest, light, rest, light, rest. Flicker flicker flicker. The panels as even spaced as the speed of my gurney. People fade into view. Men and women with blue masks, blue surgical bonnets, and long white coats rolled over their elbows. A pink watercolor stain blooms on the sleeve of a hand clamped down on my gurney.

Double doors burst open. Huge circular lamps loom white overhead. My spirit watches my body be pulled onto the operating table. Shears slice the remnants of my tattered clothes.

The knife feels cold, then hot, as it tears my flesh apart. I feel the metal tip fish inside a red sea. Tongs plunge into my wound, wriggling closer to the alien entity. My innards squirm and worm.

I float above the curtain dividing the room. A woman in labor, a heavy cloth and chain rings separating my life from hers. I watch her moaning undulate with my, no anesthetic available to either. She’s propped upright, knees spread wide. Sweat, grease, and mascara pour down her face. A mound emerges through her base, the effort of expansion and contraction tensing her entire being. She pours another round of effort, screaming low in her throat. The doctors speak in low, forceful tones. She grits her teeth, the tendons in her neck straining. Huffing, choking down air, she musters one final push and the child is out. Her body falls back, shrinking.

The doctors fret. They panic in low, rising tones. The mother catches sense of their dismay and rouses herself to see her child. A nurse holds down her shoulders, murmuring sweet lies.

“I need to see my child,” I watch her speak. The doctor holds the wet, jumbled clump, rubbing down its spine. The mother moans, head rolling from side to side begging to see her child. The doctor spanks the baby’s backside. Life sputters out, clearing open a choked windpipe. The entire procession shudders, their collective tension drops to the floor with each bellow of the baby’s cry.

The woman sees me as the doctor wraps her baby. She studies my form through crystalline eyes. Her hands are outstretched, reaching for the doctor handing her bundled child.

“Thank you,” she mouths. The doctor and nurses are confused to whom she is talking to.

My body stirs and I am pulled away. Stitches tighten my wound. My eyes crack, opening wet. The mother coos to her child. Pleasure consumes me. We have lived to see today.