The war came back to him when he slept; the eyes of the dying, the pull of the trigger, the blood that spattered against his face. He was not a man of innocence, too many bodies on his conscience and too many scars to remind him of the carnage.Ā
He waded through the trenches of his nightmares, trying to find the way back, the way out, but it pulled and tugged and pushed him until he was at the bottom again, where he would scream, cry, and rip at himself with his bare hands. He couldnāt say how many times he apologized to the nameless faces in those nightmares, but he tried knowing he wouldnāt be forgiven.Ā
When he woke, she was there, a cool and damp cloth pressed against his face and a lullaby slipping from her lips. His head rested in his lap and his chest heaved.Ā āI am here, my So,ā she would whisper.Ā āCome back to me.āĀ
He focused on her face, his bright star guiding him back home. Soon, the nameless faces faded into the darkness and he remembered he was not at war. He was at home, in the bed he shared with his wife, and their daughter sleeping in the next room.Ā āI am here, my Soo,ā he whispered when his heart resumed a normal pace,Ā āIāve come back to you.āĀ
In the morning, he would watch her sleep, as the sun began to rise. Her soft breath fluttered the hair that fell across her face, her eyes flickering underneath the lids as she dreamed, sweet ones so unlike the ones he had. He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her lips. His star, his only sun, chasing away his dark.Ā
send me a title and iāll write you a mini-ficĀ because that is how it has turned out haha