The war was rough on all of us. Wars are always rough. It's in their nature. Coming out of the war, there were two types of people. Those who made it out. And those who didn't. The ones who made it out not only survived, but were able to readjust to normal life. Everyone else was either dead, or was doomed to relive the war everyday for the rest of their life. Laying here, at 7 in the morning on a bar counter, somehow drunk and hungover at the same time, it wasn't hard to figure out which one I was.
One of the weirdest parts about being back in civilization, is the fact that anybody who's my brother's age or younger, wasn't effected by it. They didn't fight. They didn't get injured. They didn't watch their loved ones die, or live in constant fear that their loved ones would be taken. They didn't have to go through having the love of their life tortured before their eyes.
They didn't watch her limp and hollow body dragged through the room, her wrists so small that she could've easily escaped the chains and escaped. If she had enough energy to do anything more than breathe. She was so food deprived that she didn't have the energy to eat.
When we got her out, and when she was in recovery, we had to slowly feed her through the feeding tube and hope that she wouldn't throw it up right after because her body wasn't adjusted to actual nutrition.
My old war injuries start aching and I know that either rain, or something catastrophic is going to happen today. I have to admit, my breathing eased as soon as I heard the light petter of rain on the bar roof. The sound of rain always helps you fall back asleep, but the aching in your back is unbearable today, so you think sleep is off the books for right now.
"What time is it?" You call to whoever is in the room with you. You don't know who it is yet, they rotate in and out in shifts.
Oh yeah, that's another perk about going through the war. When you have a rough transition and start hurting civilians and yourself, but they know you'd break out of a mental institution- because I would break out of a mental institution- they just assign guards to watch over you all the time.
"It's just after 7, sir." Thompson calls from behind you, about 30 degrees to your right, Facing halfway between you and the door, and you decide to try and keep sleeping until the last possible second. Even though you're a drunk who's sleeping on a stool bar on the anniversary of your capture, experiencing back ache, you could still escape. Not that the guards would even try to actually stop you. Especially not someone like Thompson, who could easily be bought off. You'd bet your good shoulder that Thompson would do just about anything to make sure his daughter had an easy life. You could just pay him off right now. But you need to wait until all of your plans are in place before you can escape them and get out. Get out of town, run away. Surely there's somewhere you could fit in now, now that you're different. But making it out of the country will require a lot of planning, and a lot of units. You had a lot of units, but you needed to find the cheapest way to do everything you needed, so you could have as much money left over as possible for retirement. And you need to find a way to get her out. Except that she's the best doctor our country's ever had. And you know that you couldn't take her away, and risk so many lives. But you also know that you don't want to be away from her. And that's what's really holding you back.
