I wake up with a start. Not again… “Honey? What it is it?” I turn my head to see the beautiful outline of my wife. Although we are surrounded by the darkness of night, I can still tell she’s covered up to her neck in blankets and her head is upon an abundance of pillows. She’s fighting the sleep because she thinks she can help me. “Go back to bed. I’m sorry I woke you.” I lean over and rest a light kiss on her aged and wrinkled cheek. I remove my covers and rest my feet on the cold floor. The bones in my knees protest loudly as I shuffle to the bathroom, close the door, and turn on the light.
Wave after wave, the flashbacks and emotions hit me. I’m back in the fight. Mud, trees, the smell of blood, and my best friend next to me, giving the go ahead. All of it comes rushing back. Gun at the ready, I round the corner to check our surroundings before I tell the team to follow me. I take one, two, five, ten, twenty steps away from my men to check an upcoming alley. I stop dead in my tracks and take a deep breath. A beautiful young woman, who is glowing from pregnancy, stands alone in the alley. She shouts something in her language that I can’t translate fast enough. She smiles as she moves to bring something out of her bag, hand skimming her belly full with child. Everything slows. An intake of breath, a sick feeling in my gut. Panic. Alarm. Confusion. What is she doing with a grenade? Does she know they’re dangerous? I yell to her and take a step forward. “Dừng lại! Đólànguy hiểm!” Stop! That’s dangerous! She knows exactly what she is doing. The thought wrecks me to the very core. “Vì tình yêu của tôi, người màbạn đãgiết!” Because of my love, the one you killed. She raises it above her head, puts her finger to the pin, and screams. Slowly, she falls to the ground and lands in her own blood. I take my finger off the trigger. What have I done? I fade back to my bathroom, as I stare at myself in the mirror. At first, I see the old man I’ve become: wrinkles, age spots, crow’s feet, bald spots, all the signs of age. But, the longer I look, the younger I appear. I no longer look eighty, but eighteen. I appear to have brown hair, lean muscle, smooth skin, and am in my army uniform. My awards are by my lapel, displaying the honor. The vision soon returns to the truth and wrinkles. The only thing that didn’t change is my eyes. They stare that same familiar, blank stare. Eyes that have seen too many lives leaving this earth, and eyes that relive those moments with every blink. Comments are closed.
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