Helpless

Epilogue

Tom Robbins was old and senile. And kind of aggresive, because he lived his nightmares like a reality. That was a reason why his sister put him into the asylum. The therapeutist, which got his case, found out that his brain suffered from terrible inner pain that wasn't able to handle by another way than put himself in a some kind of loop. Looks like he remembered only the last day before he was shot down in Bagdad and his brain made a life lasting just that one day.
It was anomally. It was dream for him as they put him in comatose sleep.
When he freed his mind from pain by saving a soul of young boy from his rage, he was clinically dead, the therapeutist looked on the monitor and saw a calmness of the moment before everything was narrow again. He was finally free. No nightmares. Pain neither.
Only sleep. For eternity. His face looks calm now. The therapeutist smiled lightly and caressed his cold cheek. "Sleep well, Colonel Tom Robbins. Sleep well."

After that he sat on the bench under the tree, which was still little wet from last rain and said to himself. I am only who left there with you. So pathetic because you probably hate me. For what I did to you. I took you all you had. Even life you lived by yourself. Still waiting for end of the war. Still sitting in gravely friction- what if someone's call you back to serve?
You cried for help and I wasn't able to. So I drugged you down to keep you imprisoned in your own body. Without change for those years...
Then he stood from his place and smiled again. As he went back to him, he saw a lonely tear from his eye. He looked at him cautiously. He was dead, that the man knows. And no one left. Man returned to his office and touched a gun, that lied before him on the table. He looked at it, as much as he was afraid... Then finally decided. He picked up a gun and shiver. Then put a finger on trigger and said to empty room: "For you, Colonel Tom Boggins. For your service to our country. For..." His last words were interrupted by explosion. A gun fell from his hand and head drop to the side as a tiny string of blood dripped from his mouth. On the end of story... he stood as the coward. He ended a story with pulling a trigger.
And so this is really end. Of Tom Boggins.
Of Alice.
Of all patients and personel of asylum.
No one left. Only my words are a dot to this. We are all stories at the end. So please, made a good one.