Let us not forget as we stand here in the wood, ear trained, listening for the words to come to tell their story so we may not, Gods forbid, repeat such atrocities again but that’s not what you hear now, as you are crouched, poised, an animalistic machine in survival mode. You hold your bloody fist, behold, in my face as if to show that I am barred from ever returning home back up to the land of living honoring any remote thoughts of release up until Hell freezes over, but we all know that’s a silly saying anyway…holding flesh from some other being like a trophy, to be admired only by yourself because you are alone, the only one of the few that was left behind to fight the dirty fight…

You were forgotten on the battlefield and at home, and as you wonder ‘what else do I have to live for’ you remember you’ve got a gun at your side that gives you pride and power and you instinctively reach for the handle as you return to the battlefield if only in your head… as they try to secure the straps holding you down to take you away to another place where it’s told it will be safe but you can’t believe anybody anyway because it has been too long and too horrific to live this way, lost in the wood.

You are at home, but you don’t know it.

Nobody treats you like you; the old you. Everything is different now, and will, no doubt make a great story one day but right now the pain is too new, too fresh and is still lingering in corners only to sneak out when unexpected, an uninvited friend in collaboration with Insanity and the Grim Reaper Clown.

You have survived much, my friend.

I wish you luck, since offering anything else would seem trivial and not fully comprehending the complete experience of the very real nightmares that you have seen. I stand ready to take that fist and extend fingers to meet with palm in a moment of peace, but would you let me? Would you let anyone? Only time will tell.

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