Two months later my boots scuttered across a landmine. The Army’s official report said that it was my fault, that I was running away. True, I did not want to kill the Viet Cong. I did not want to kill anybody. But the real truth was that I was already dead. By the time the high tide came in and the waves lapped me up, the fragments of bone, the splatters of flesh, I was a ghost. I was ashes. I was a shadow from a past that no longer existed.
The kind of story that makes one whisper wow. Read it here.