Diary of a Female Soldier

John's Wings

2.26.2016
Dairy,

I used to have a little brother. His name was John.

He was so naughty and energetic. His curly blond hair was like a crown on his big head, and his light brown eyes captured everyone's heart.

I always wanted to protect him. He was always my ray of light, no matter how small I was when he was born - I was seven years old -. I remember even once that I beaten up the school bully who was bothering him and broke his tooth.

Of course the school principal called me to talk, and she demanded that I apologize to the bully.

And of course, I said they can go fuck themselves (yes, I had a dirty mouth from a young girl).

I always kept my eye on my little angel. But today...

I'm writing to you from home - I came back for a week. My commander called me to a conversation, during which he didn't dare to look me in the eye.

It kind of made me angry.

"You're free." He said to me, while he was sitting across from me on his desk in the choked little room.

I looked deep into his eyes, "For how long?"

"A week. Be with your family, rest, build up your strength." He was playing with the pin he had taken out of his uniform.

I stiffened, trying not to let my anger take over, "I've already dealt with the death of my friends from the field-"

"He was your brother. You need to be with your family on the anniversary of his death."

Oh. Of course. What a difference, the death of a soldier who has been with you for months on the field, which you consider as your second family, and the death of your real family - where death is unpredictable, and more painful.

"That's an order. I don't want to see you here tomorrow. Go pack your stuff. Come back in a week from now."

"Yes sir!" I said, saluting him. For the first time in my life I did not know what to say. I felt my mouth dry, and the stifling of the throat began to affect me, pushing the tears out.

But I didn't cry. I didn't let myself cry, not since he died.

My brother died in a car accident at the age of eight. Hit and run. The maniac was caught and today he is in prison, but I will tell you something: it can happen, so easily. One moment you don't notice, one minute you're on the phone, and boom! Someone is dead.

And you can not do anything with it. You can't change it.

And here's another little secret: Time doesn't cure the wounds. It still hurts like the day he died, I just learn how to hide it. How to live with the pain of loss.

My brother will not come back. That's a fact. But I still have dreams of him, dreaming that I'm protecting him, even though he was my angel.

And that's why I tattooed the wings. Because wherever John is, I'm sure he has wings, because he's our angel.

I'll stop writing, before the tears stain all the pages.

Until next time,

Lexi.