STOLEN

Disclaimer possible T.W 

Chapter 1                                                                                                                                                                  

A purpose

Three days. It has been three days home where I am safe and should not be worried about stepping on a bomb or being forced to examine my surroundings thoroughly. Although I know I am safe, I feel as though I lost something I could never get back during my time in the war, I lost my happiness. Whenever I hear children running, it reminds me of the hapless innocent children screaming, weeping whilst running for their lives hoping, to find a way out. The sound of glass shattering recalls terrible memories of bullets as well as bombs. I cannot quite put my emotions into words; I feel lost, as if I am in a dark room, incapable of finding my way out. The guilt is annihilating as if it is a living organism slowly putting a gun against my head. Am I a sick person for not helping innocent people?

Nightmares every night ever since I came back home where it is safe. I have not had a goodnight sleep in ages. I am tired of my mind replaying disturbing moments, my imagination playing with my brain, not letting me distinguish what is real and what is not. The fact that I could have helped the children who lost their lives but, yet I took a picture. My mind was vacant during the war as if I were a robot, unconsciously doing my job. Plane's passing through the sky full of smiling passengers excited to go to their destination evoked terrible images of the warplanes crashing in the trees with soldiers hoping to wake up in a new reality. Was it worth it? In the end, the pictures went in the back of newspapers, on the page no one sees.

I might not be physically dead, which many people tell me I should be thankful for but, I am certainly not alive from the inside. I have not had a genuine smile for months, years, a part of me wants to go back in time and fix my regrets. However, how can one think during a job like mine, where I must take pictures of disturbing moments, then, in the end, choosing five to go on the back of a newspaper. I have dozens of photos that I never want to look at lying around on my table, but how can I throw them? What if those were the last photos ever taken of that person? As much as I hate looking at the images, they have a meaning that no one will ever see or understand.

My brother who was a soldier fighting for his life and others died, but I didn't cry, I didn't grief, I was frozen still. I was just listening, analyzing what happened as though I didn't quite comprehend the thought, but a part of me feels like he's still here right next to me. I hear his voice; I remember hearing his scream whilst running and saving lives. When it comes to meeting new people, when I used to do that, people would always look up to my brother and think of me as relaxed in my job thinking it was the easiest part. It isn't. At least soldiers sacrifice their lives for a reason, whether it is saving others, or saving their country. I sacrifice my life for photos.

Sure, you're probably thinking I'm the one who chose to do this job. Right? Nope, I never chose to be here in this position I was threatened. I was told that if I didn't, they would kill everyone I know and love. Honestly, at this stage, I feel like I don't know anyone and certainly don't like anyone. However, it felt like the sane thing to do to sign a contract that would take my life from me as I am just watching it all happen, it is funny how a small little thing such as a signature can ruin my life forever.

Chapter 2

They

They. I don't know who they are. People I suppose is all I can say. I never actually met them they just one day showed up at my doorstep with a gun against my head. Why didn't I call the police? Why didn't I find a way out of the contract? Well, the answer is I couldn't, I tried but that led me to physically losing my leg, my right leg. I remember it almost vividly, they were cogitating about something in my kitchen I was strapped to a chair, both my hands behind my back, but I managed to free one hand and quickly free my legs and arm, I quickly but quietly ran and grabbed the phone. Dialled 99- BAM. My leg was shot eight times. I remember staring at the blood, screaming while my leg dripped with dark red liquid. The next thing I remember is waking up with a pen strapped to my hand, a gun against my head and a tall, muscular man telling me how much I would hate life if I didn't sign that contract. Therefore, naturally, I started reading what I was getting myself into and signed it.

They left as soon as I signed the contract. The next thing I know is that I had a camera in my hand, a wooden leg and a plane going to Vietnam.

I might not know who they are but all of that is going to change one day. Surprisingly I always thought my brother was one of them it's a bizarre thought but how can I trust anyone at that stage. It made sense and it still does if it were to be my brother, he always complained about his job and how I was sitting around doing nothing, as I quit my previous job which was an accountant because I wasn't getting paid enough, sure it seemed selfish but I thought that I shouldn't work for someone that doesn't know my worth. I now learned that my life was most definitely not as hard as his. Though that's not why I thought he was one of them, what brought me my suspicions about him is that he never questioned what happened to my leg almost as if nothing happened. Another reason for my suspicions is that the day I quit my job I remember him saying ' you can't imagine the pain I go through even the simplest job such as a war photographer is 1000 times harder than your life you wouldn't even probably survive a day in a war photographers position I would love to see you even try' then I remember his smirk an evil smirk as though he came up with an idea.

I never actually liked my brother he always tried proving he's better than me in everything. The day I graduated; he got a job; the day I got my job he got a promotion. To a certain degree it never really bothered me until I saw how people look at him. They see him as a God, a mighty warrior while they see me as his secretary, the other one.

I know he's my brother and I should be happy for him but it is not like he was ever happy for me, I never got my time to shine in front of my parents or friends, and I never will because now I'm the guy who can't handle being a photographer.

I was always seen as a disappointment to others, I never really understood why in the end, I and my brother are different human beings we were roommates because he found no use in paying the whole price of the house when he is always going to be in another country, fighting but in reality, it's because he couldn't afford to live alone but of course he had to come up with a whole heroic fake story just so everyone can think he's the main character. Oh, I know a lot. All his secrets I never told anyone about anything though, which is rather nice of me since I don't remember him ever keeping his mouth shut about anything, I ever told him.

They traumatized me, ruined my life and killed me from the inside. It is because of them my wife got a divorce just to go and marry my brother. Her name is Nova. Nova, oh she was great she still is; I know she went and married my brother, but she was the one, the one I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. SPOILER- she wasn't.

My brother- Steven never wanted the best for me he always wanted the worst to happen to me. It is cruel but I never really focused too much on it.

The day I have been told that he passed away after getting shot I wasn't mad or sad I was free. I loved him after everything he put me through, but I couldn't help but feel free, as though someone removed an elephant from my shoulders. It was one of those rare times where I wasn't happy but certainly not sad.  

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