I’d been pinned down for what felt like hours, bullets tearing through the walls around me. When I saw the broken window above, I knew it was my only way out. My hands were shaking as I hauled myself up, my boots scraping against the rusted metal. I could hear the enemy closing in, their shouts growing louder by the second.
For a moment, I froze—my foot slipped, and I dangled over the drop, staring at the smoke and chaos below. But I didn’t let go. I pulled myself up, rolled through the window, and kept running. This is what it means to fight: not just to win, but to survive. And in that moment, I was just glad to still be breathing.
Comments