The War - Legless

“There’s no fuel,” Ivan said, when I tried to get petrol for my car. 

“How can there be no fuel,” I said. “This is Russia, oil is all Russia has.” 

Ivan shrugged. “There’s a war on,” he said.  

“I know,” I said. “Where do you think I lost my leg, left it in a bar?” 

He shrugged again. “There’s still no fuel.” 

“But I need to get into town.” 

“Ah, well you can walk into town, it’s only two miles.” 

“I only have one leg.” 

He shrugged again. “There’s still no fuel.” 

I managed to cadge a lift into town. Had to wait half an hour, how I’ll get back even the gods don’t know.  

“Is there meat?” I asked the butcher. 

“Ha,” the butcher laughed. “There’s a war on you know.” 

“I know,” I said. “Where do you think I lost my leg, left it in a bar?” 

"There's still no meat."

I hopped on to the bakers.  

“There’s no bread,” the baker said. “There’s a war on you know.” 

“I know,” I said. “Where do you think I lost my leg, left it in a bar?” 

Truth is I did leave my leg in a bar. The artificial one the government gave me. I took it off as it was hurting, and when I woke up the next morning I’d somehow managed to get home without it. The barman looked at me as if I was mad when I asked about it the next day. I’ve been hopping about on crutches ever since. 

At the bar there was still no sign of my leg.  “You’ll tell me if anyone hands it in won’t you,” I said. 

“What’s it look like.” 

“It’s a leg.” 

“Could be anyone’s leg, they all look alike to me, how will I know it’s yours.” 

I complained to the guy next to me at the bar. 

“There’s no fuel, no meat, no bread,” I said. 

“Don’t tell me,” he said. “You should raise it with the Minister.” 

“The Minister?” 

“An important figure in the government. He’s visiting town today, being presented with a medal.” 

“I didn’t get a medal,” I said. “I lost a leg and didn’t get a medal.” 

He snorted with laughter. “You expect a medal for getting drunk and leaving your leg at a bar?” 

“I mean for my actual leg. I lost that in the war.” 

“People have had worse. Olga from the farm lost three sons. She only had three sons.” 

“I only had two legs.” 

“Don’t tell me.” 

“I won’t. I’ll tell the Minister.” 

“You’ll tell him will you. As if he’ll care. You don’t get medals for caring. Or for losing legs.” 

“I’ll tell him all the same. 

I still had my gun. They were supposed to ask for it back, but they don’t. It’s as if they don’t have any plans in place for soldiers actually coming back.  

I recognised him straight away, well-fed, uniform layered with medals already, barely space for another.  

He looked at me as I approached, tried and failed to hide his disgust at my absent limb. 

“Hello soldier,” he said. 

“Hello,” I said. I raisded my gun and fired. 

No more medals for you.