The Rope
(A response to “Taking the road that’s given to you”)
The rope swayed softly in the gentle breeze. Mel stumbled slowly towards the swinging rope. Behind him an angry man urged him on with the tip of his gun. Every step in the dry earth brought forth memory after memory.
A dirt clod hit him between the shoulder blades. Stumbling, he managed to catch himself before he fell into the soft dirt of the playground. “Nice save, dorkwad!” a boy shouted as he ran by. Mel frowned at the interruption. This always happened just as he was getting to the good part. He sighed and immersed himself once again into the story.
“Yo, bookworm!” the jock shouted as he punched Mel’s arm and plopped down next to him. “What’s today’s book?” the jock asked. Mel just grunted and glanced over at his friend Sam. “So, did you hear about the draft? They say all the guys gotta sign up.” Sam said. Mel looked at Sam in surprise. “Draft? When do we have to do that?” Mel asked. “Tomorrow’s the last day to sign up, bookworm! Where have you been the past week? I signed up yesterday!” Sam responded. Mel nodded. Adventure in a fantasy world was great, but Mel had doubts about how well he could deal with exciting adventures in the real world. But, he figured, you take what’s thrown at you. “Okay, Sam.” Mel said. “I’ll sign up tomorrow.”
The rope stopped swinging. The wind died and every noise was muted. Only the cracking of the soil beneath their feet and the quiet creaking of the large old tree broke the silence. A small wooden box lay crumbling next to the scarred tree trunk. Warily keeping an eye on his securely bound prisoner, the angry man placed the box beneath the rope. With a gesture of the man’s weapon, Mel obediently stepped up to the box, and stood on it.
Bullets whizzed overhead as explosions rocked the ground. Remembering his training and steadfastly following it, Mel crept towards the target. By his side Sam kept a lookout for stray bullets. Following orders the two men planted the bomb and scampered to a foxhole mere meters away. Sam pushed the detonator button. Nothing happened. Confused, Sam took out the radio communicator and called headquarters. The response was clear. Detonate manually. Mel covered Sam as he crept back to the target. According to headquarters, Sam had plenty of time to throw the switch and get back to safety. Sam reached the bomb and threw the switch.
Holstering his gun, the angry man said nothing as he placed the rope over Mel’s head. Involuntarily, Mel’s neck tightened and he swallowed hard. 
Sam was dead. Stumbling though the underbrush, Mel struggled to understand how. They had followed orders. They had done everything they had been told to do. Now Mel was stranded and alone, and Sam was dead. Weaponless and confused, Mel wandered out of the forest and into the mountains. Birds chirped merrily as Mel marched blindly forward. In the wild desolation of the mountains, his green-suited figure was easily spotted. From behind a large boulder, an angry man stepped out. Although neither one spoke, understanding passed between them. The march had begun.
The angry man stood back and drew his gun. Standing proudly on the box, Mel knew that he had followed orders and had done what fate had decreed. He took a certain comfort in knowing that his destiny was clear and he had not tried to fight it. The angry man drew back his foot, and, in one startlingly clear moment, Mel understood. A mental scream of anguish tore though his body as realization hit. “I have to fight!” Mel cried. The box shattered. The rope snapped.