As always, it's a nightmare. My comrades and are are under the heavy line of fire in Afghanistan five years ago. My best friend, Thomas Westrapp, is running along side myself, shooting at random in the direction of the opposition (I became friends with Tom from gun practise, and since then, we sort of just clicked). And next is the bomb. The bomb that killed Tom. The bomb that he jumped on top of to save me, the unmarried and forever lonely. Why Tom? What will I tell your Wife, your young boy? I just look at Tom's body for a long time, leaving me vulnerable to the fog of gun fire; pain (like a drop of smouldering metal, tunneling through flesh) erupts in my left shoulder.
I wake up, sweaty and crying in my small two roomed apartment in London. As always.
I nibble at my morning apple and grab my cane for a limp in to London Gardens. I usually go for a stroll every morning for some peace and quiet, which is why I was slightly angered (and a little grateful to find a reason not to dwell on my high-functioning military past) when I ran into my school friend, Mike Stamford. That man used to be a scawny small boy obsessed with Physics and Chemistry, exchanging help for homework with friendship. We worked together shortly as interns, but I left for Afghanistan and we never really caught up since. He understood that he has gained a fair amount of weight, and I understood my life fell apart since I was shot, and he bought me a strong coffee and we sat on a garden bench.
Mike was helping me out with my financial problems. I told him my Army Pension wasn't enough to keep me here in London, and as my leg injury is supposedly psychosomatic, I cant get any additional money from that either.
"What should I do?" I asked.
"I dunno. Get a flat sharer or something." He replied
"Come on. Who'd want me for a flatmate?" At this, Mike lightly chuckles to himself
"What?"
"You're the second person to say that to me today."
"Who's the first?"
"C'mon, I'll show you" And with that, we left for St. Bartholemew's Hospital.
YOU ARE READING
My Life as a Blog- By John Watson
FanfictionMy Psychologist thought it'd be Good for me if I wrote about my day to highlight what is and isn't working in my high functioning military brain. Feel free to add any thoughts or feelings, or want to help me out.
