It was wrong. They ordered us in anyway. And like robots, we moved to their commands. There is not a day that goes by that I do not hear my own fear, and regret. I believed then, that we were doing good... I believe now, that I was coded to know that somehow following orders is honorable. It was wrong, and I regret all I have done. Now, that I am half a world away from where I sat in the desert - deaf from the concussion - cradling my friend, watching him mouth the words "I'm OK, I'm OK" - I was far from OK. I am never the same. Some aspects of life are simple. Sure, shaving my face to appear clean, satisfies oblivious people. Waiting in line at the bank, instead of walking to the front of the line and cold-staring the old woman at the front - as if to say "You say anything, and I’ll ******* kill you". Watching my son pitch a 9 pitch - 3 strikeout game, and smiling, knowing someday he might retire a happy man. Simple. I remember every day after I escaped my own death. I can't forget anything. I can't - because I thought I was dead. I thought I had entered a dream that I was alive. I thought at any moment I would leave my body, and not feel what I was feeling. When the realization hit, 3 days later, I lay down in the sand, and begged to forget everything. I begged for it to never have happened. And I know I was not the only one. I know it was karma, making me pay for my wrong. I am home now, and my children are better for it. My wife no longer has to lie in bed alone wondering if I am alive. My oldest son sometimes asks what it was like over there... I have never told him. He has the innocence that I once took from another human, and I hope he can keep it until he is old enough to choose to relinquish it.
Willy, in Fan Fiction? I loved your story about shopping at the grocery store but I was a bit confused about this ond.