They Had My Back

im going to fully delete this blog soon to get it out of my head.

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Kuebiko: A state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence.

Las Vegas was definitely a title holder in crime and corruption - but never like this. People ran about like stray dogs that lapped up disease filled waters. There was a desperate madness in their every movement, even the most delicate ones. 

Anecdoche: A conversation in which everyone is talking, but nobody is listening  

There was a shift in time as if the clocks paused when they looked away.  One hung above the doorway like an old school classroom, round and analog. The ticks it let out were usually much gentler, much less noticeable. 

In fact, Finn couldn’t place in his memory that the clock made any noise whatsoever. It’s becoming distracting. 

 “Please…focus.”  A tired voice cuts through the thick ambiance. 

The young solider halfway jumps, unsure what was so startling about it.  Perhaps, he can still feel the yelling that was usually accompanied by gunfire and helicopters in that particular voice.  He can’t separate anything anymore. It’s so sad.   “Yes, sir!” 

“–Chris. Things are different now. We’re friends.” 

Finn melts back into the spacey behavior almost instantly. Everything around him had appeared grainy and filmy. His mind aligns it with pure static. It felt like he woke up to an entire different world, something much more slow and exhausting. “Yes, sir…”   

“God damn it.”  

Rückkehrunruhe: The feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness. 

 His body is cocooned by it’s own limbs. They press into him so tightly that unlocking each finger from balled fists had become ritual. It was a habit formed four years ago and it’s unsure whether he is channeling a significant part of his previous infection or if war all by itself wore him this insecure.  

This particular time, he had found himself on the sofa, a picture rested face down on his chest. His entire body ached, but his head had rung in agony above all the soreness…specifically as he made eye contact with the back of the picture.  Easily, he was curious but poor Finn had a lingering feeling behind his neck he was all too used to. 

As he turned the photograph over, each and every hair on his arms and neck had stood completely like a frightened cat. He even drops the photo and scrunches backwards.  

“You weren’t there.”  

 Yet, there it was - all the evidence needed laying less than a foot from him.  This time it faced up, beckoned him to look.  With hesitance, he crawls over to it and tries to scrape together the events in his memory.

 Each time he recalls, something is slightly off- the types of differences when re-imagining a daydream. He can’t recreate it - it’s all too murky…but he’s sure it happened. It had to. 

She was flawlessly haunting him. 

He picks the photo up, studies a woman immensely far in the background.  Her black cropped hair, her careful glance, and the overall ghastliness …

…but he cannot remember her being there. 

  Finn places his thumb over her face, makes out the details of the rest of the image, to that, he finds something just as, if not more, stirring.  

Feelings come in waves, their gentleness gradually layering. Overtime, they’re thick and heavy, they crawl between your fingers and behind your eyes. 

His felt swollen, all the shades beneath them that skin shouldn’t be. 

However, he didn’t cry… Chris’ expectations still mattered, after all. Perhaps the sound of his voice was slowly leaving Finn’s mind, but the words and meanings had carried over.  

It’s been ten years.  The gravestone still looked new, even after various weather conditions, the respect and honor…and love that everyone had for him showed in it’s care. 

Never did the flowers that rested on the plot look aged, someone was quick to replace them. Distinctive orange petals, every time he came around.  He wonders if it was Claire or Jill perhaps—someone closer, someone who’s heart can’t be mended from the loss. 

But whose heart ever could be? 

He places a hand on the stone, thumb gliding over the surface, trying to distract himself. To feel something physical rather than sad.

“I hope you don’t mind that I touch your grave, sir.” 

Silence.

The conversations still meant something, even if Chris couldn’t hear them.

“Just…stressed. Don’t worry about me.”

     For a moment, his mouth parted to form other words. Yet, they never came.

“Yes, sir.”