December... Ugh. Not this time of the year again.
I know I should rejoice and be happy, celebrating concepts like peace, but please! There's nothing to be jolly about with all the pain and endless war...
What is it good for?
My mind scream-answered Absolutely nothing! as I turned up the collar of my old, ragged winter coat and made my way through the bustling streets of Bryork.
My knee throbbed and ached with every step I took, but Javiflufs will turn purple before I'd use a cane. Never show weakness; rule number one on the battlefield.
I stopped and blinked at myself in a fancy shop window.
"The battlefield..." I murmured as I stared at passerby carrying gift wrapped parcels and children playing in the snow.
The pain in my knee flared up. I clenched my fist.
I took a deep breath. "The battlefield is a faraway memory now."
Faraway? Who am I kidding?
I carry it with me wherever I go. We all do! Those who fought and those who stayed behind. Life will go on. It always does - it has no choice - but we remember. Our bodies remember. Our minds won't ever forget.
We remember the pain, the loss, the grief, lives that once were, but never will be, dreams that have been shattered, innocence that has been destroyed. It's all etched in our soul!
So how could we ever forget it all?
I clenched my hands around my head and tugged on my hair. Memories I had hoped I had buried long ago flooded my mind. My face screwed up with every blood filled thought. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I fell to my knees.
"How can I ever forget?"
Me, the once so powerful soldier from the war, reduced to a sad heap of flesh and bones... Pathetic! I should be ashamed of myself.
Stand up and carry yourself with dignity. Stand up like you stood up against that horrible being. Stand up like you stood up to protect their victims.
Stand up!
I pushed myself back up, but my knee failed me. Like a ragdoll, I fell back on the ground, unable to move. Sobs left my mouth as I covered my face.
I'm pathetic.
***
The shop door opened and the young shop attendant watched me from the doorway. Flour as white as the cold falling snow stained his apron and a warm worry washed over his face as he towered over crumbling, pathetic me.
He cleaned his hands on his apron, contemplating his next move.
I already knew what he was about to say: 'Sorry, old hag. You gotta move. Our customers are scared of you. Go break down somewhere else.' That's what they all say.
The young shop attendant kneeled down next to me, his hand hovering over my broken shoulders, but not touching them. Smart kid.
His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. "Hey," he said. "I don't know what you're going through right now, but know that you don't have to go through it in this freezing cold.
Please, come in. Let me offer you something warm to drink and something fresh out of the oven to eat. Warm yourself at our fireplace and stay as long as you need."
I stared at him in disbelief.
The young shop attendant added: "It's on me, so don't worry about having to pay for it."
