#twentyeight

I’ve been trying to figure out what I should post for today, and I had the perfect idea come to me the day before, so in honor of my 16th birthday, I get to show everyone how obsessed I am with step squads!!!

( •⩊•) ___🎂___ (•⩊• )

(>🍰>) | | (<🍽<)

Weston had been a wreck since he got back from Iraq. It had been a year since he returned from duty, a disability stamp across his file. It was hard. He spent most of his days inside, asleep. Most of his nights were spent out. He had days where he didn’t leave his house, and days where he didn’t come home. Going back to civilian life was harder than Iraq some days. 

Sitting on his couch wit a beer in hand, he blankly stared at the television. Trying to forget his nightmares wasn’t something he knew how to do. He continuously saw the face of a small girl, about the age of 5. She had caramel skin and dark brown hair. Her eyes had been filled with fear. He had completely frozen when by chance, she ended up in his crosshairs. She filled most of his nightmares. He had seen her around the city, sometimes alone, sometimes with her mother. He had no idea this would be her fate. At least not by his own gun. No one around him even batted a lash. When he started displaying suicidal tendencies, he was shipped home with nothing but the scars of his birthdays past, the marks left on his body from shrapnel across his shoulder. Even though it was covered with a tattoo, he’d never forget.

No recuerdo

qué era lo que quería.

Ahora estoy asustado.