Heroes and Villains
America was poking at his helmet, sticking in bits of foliage into the rim. Vietnam sat in the seat across from him, watching the American with careful brown eyes. He looks up from his work with curious eyes, wondering why she was looking at him like that. It was a look reminiscent to what the Europeans gave him- wise beyond anything he could begin to understand, judging every move he made, and still filled with a curious sort of hope.
“Don’t worry,” He hummed, “It’ll be easy. We’ll go in, take care of the bad guys, and be out in no time, trust me.” And when he smiled that bright smile of his at her, Vietnam could see how naïve he was.
Her eyes hardened and she squeezed her hands into fists, holding onto the fabric of her clothes. “The bad guys?” She repeated, her voice tight and trying to stay polite and in control of herself, “Who are the bad guys, Mr. Jones?”
“Yeah, y’know,” He shrugged and went back to poking at his helmet as if he were working on some work of art. “The commies and stuff.”
Standing up, she walked over to America’s side of the table and grabbed onto his hand. She didn’t say a word but her eyes clearly read, ‘You are coming with me.’ With a yelp, America was pulled out of his seat and he flailed to grab his helmet so that it could come with him. Vietnam guided him outside, dragging him outside of the camp.
The two walked for what felt like forever. America asked where they were going and kept saying it wasn’t safe to be out in the jungles like this and Vietnam only responded by saying he would see and that no one would hurt him if she was with him because none of her people would dare to attack her or someone who was under her direct protection. She stepped over tree roots and moved aside branches and vines with ease while America stumbled, often coming close to falling face first into the ground if not being hit directly in the face by a branch he swore wasn’t there a moment ago.
When America was just beginning to get a hang of maneuvering around the jungle, the two came to a stop in a clearing. There were people; Vietnamese people and America stood taller, ready to jump in front of Vietnam to protect her from a guerilla’s bullet at any moment. The people in the village continued with their every day business, seemingly unaware of the two nations watching from the distance.
Raising her hand, Vietnam pointed to a man on one side of the village and a man on the other. “Look, Mr. Jones.” She ordered, “Can you tell me what they are?”
“They’re Vietnamese!” He responded smartly. He was confused as to where this conversation was going.
“But which one is from the north and which one is from the south?” She asked. To her, the answer was more than obvious but she had the unfair advantage of being their national spirit. She turned her head to watch America as he tried to differentiate between the two. His silence was answer enough for her and she continued, “It’s difficult without uniform, isn’t it?” Her voice growing more stern as she began to make her point.
“It will be easy,” She mocked and she challenged America to tell her which one was the bad guy they had to kill to end the war, “Mr. Jones, things will not be as easy as you think.” She scolded and she turned on her heel and marched back into the jungle.
“Don’t worry,” He hummed, “It’ll be easy. We’ll go in, take care of the bad guys, and be out in no time, trust me.” And when he smiled that bright smile of his at her, Vietnam could see how naïve he was.
Her eyes hardened and she squeezed her hands into fists, holding onto the fabric of her clothes. “The bad guys?” She repeated, her voice tight and trying to stay polite and in control of herself, “Who are the bad guys, Mr. Jones?”
“Yeah, y’know,” He shrugged and went back to poking at his helmet as if he were working on some work of art. “The commies and stuff.”
Standing up, she walked over to America’s side of the table and grabbed onto his hand. She didn’t say a word but her eyes clearly read, ‘You are coming with me.’ With a yelp, America was pulled out of his seat and he flailed to grab his helmet so that it could come with him. Vietnam guided him outside, dragging him outside of the camp.
The two walked for what felt like forever. America asked where they were going and kept saying it wasn’t safe to be out in the jungles like this and Vietnam only responded by saying he would see and that no one would hurt him if she was with him because none of her people would dare to attack her or someone who was under her direct protection. She stepped over tree roots and moved aside branches and vines with ease while America stumbled, often coming close to falling face first into the ground if not being hit directly in the face by a branch he swore wasn’t there a moment ago.
When America was just beginning to get a hang of maneuvering around the jungle, the two came to a stop in a clearing. There were people; Vietnamese people and America stood taller, ready to jump in front of Vietnam to protect her from a guerilla’s bullet at any moment. The people in the village continued with their every day business, seemingly unaware of the two nations watching from the distance.
Raising her hand, Vietnam pointed to a man on one side of the village and a man on the other. “Look, Mr. Jones.” She ordered, “Can you tell me what they are?”
“They’re Vietnamese!” He responded smartly. He was confused as to where this conversation was going.
“But which one is from the north and which one is from the south?” She asked. To her, the answer was more than obvious but she had the unfair advantage of being their national spirit. She turned her head to watch America as he tried to differentiate between the two. His silence was answer enough for her and she continued, “It’s difficult without uniform, isn’t it?” Her voice growing more stern as she began to make her point.
“It will be easy,” She mocked and she challenged America to tell her which one was the bad guy they had to kill to end the war, “Mr. Jones, things will not be as easy as you think.” She scolded and she turned on her heel and marched back into the jungle.