51. Ryan
Ryan
Every single time I close my eyes, the barracks vanish. The ambient smell of burning trash and desert dust instantly becomes the thick, metallic stench of fresh blood. Drywall explodes into white powder around my head.
“Man down! Man down!” Brody’s voice screams in my ears, so incredibly loud that my teeth rattle. My hand violently twitches on the mattress, my fingers clawing at an invisible rifle grip, my muscles locking hard as I prepare to drive my body weight back into the line of fire at that window—
I blink.
The room is quiet. Dust drifts lazily in the harsh desert sun, cutting through the window.
My heart is hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against my ribs, and my t-shirt is completely soaked in a cold sweat.
I let my hand drop slowly to my side, forcing the tremors to stop.
I reach my pocket, slowly tracing the edge of Jackson’s last letter.
I take a slow, mechanical breath, burying the panic back down into the dark.
Now, I’m sitting in front of a base therapist who is looking at me like I’m a lost fucking puppy.
Yeah, I’ll say all the right things to you just so you give me my gun back, but fuck if I actually feel them.
I can feel myself shutting down completely, but all my energy right now is focused on keeping a tight lid on my boiling rage.
I know it’s going to fucking explode the second I’m back out in the field.
Let them keep me benched for now. Let them think I’m done. They wouldn’t let me fly home to say goodbye, but they can’t keep me on this base forever. The second they put a weapon back in my hands and send our unit back out, revenge is going to be my only closure.
The silence of the barracks is absolute torture.
In the quiet, I can hear the gunshots over and over again.
I still feel the crushing weight of Brody on my shoulders as I carried him through that valley.
The silence of the base is just a placeholder for the noise of vengeance.
Memories of my time as a soldier are merging together, all my fallen brothers, all the noises suddenly attacking me.