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CardiacAtlas -> My brother whom Time Forgot (Non-Erotica) (8/28/2011 6:32:54 AM)
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My brother whom Time forgot
Imagine that gnawing sensation in the pit of your stomach. That tense feeling when your jonesing for a smoke long since due. That constant edge at the back of your skull, as if all eyes are upon you, hidden by distance and view.
It starts off slow, first with pride and smiles. A little fan fair, completed by a patch on a shoulder with a history longer then living memory, and your part of it. Amongst my comrades, a brotherhood, though those who've been around, their faces are lined by a shadow you can only guess at.
A calendar on the wall marks the passing of birthdays and holidays missed. A thanksgiving spent alone, away from family. Reasons trivial. It’s a steady stream on a growing list best summed as life without you. The only change, the progressing addition of the deaths of friends. Sooner than expected, the anniversaries of a brother's demise outnumber the days you celebrate.
The family, they understand, they forgive, but they don’t forget. Choice or not, the gap between you grows. They learn to cope, to live without a brother, a father, a husband; they've no choice in the matter. Their story progresses, and sometimes, you'll get a card.
That’s life, and you cope. It’s like a steady winding spring were you don’t know the breaking point. You never think on it. The idea pushed out of your mind towards a future never considered. The concerns of today too pressing, their collective weight a crushing burden if one stops to consider the combined sum.
The only salvation, the brotherhood, the collected body of those in similar straits. You lose yourself in the work, the violence, the death, the blood, the days that span on in boredom that you wish would end. They understand, they feel it too. A switch gets turned, theirs a lust for violence, and the life satisfies on occasion. The hollow goes away, you feel again. The years wear, you age faster than expected, you find yourself old long before your time, tired and weary, common description of how you feel, and it doesn’t go away.
Then you realize, you’re alone.
Though others call you hero, you don’t identify, and they don’t understand. Seeing a crowd both panics and excites. That predator gleam in the eye, a hint of insanity, instability. The word on a lone man's lips; monster. He doesn’t say it, the jingle of tags stops him. You wonder what’s wrong, you fight against yourself late into the night, sleepless nights filled with past nightmares and current fears.
It hits you.
Soldier, called to kill, trained to kill, all an illusion. A calloused hand suited for a trigger-well, the cheers and smiles of a brother in preparation for the next war, the next deployment. The sound of apache fire overhead, illusion, nothings real just smoke and mirrors.
Home.
Finally home, and you’re a stranger. No one understands, no one comprehends.
But the hand…
The hand, still shakes, the fear still lingers.
And the soul remembers the kill.
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