Tapestry of Scars

The Wounds of War

A/N: If you read any of my author's notes, please make it this one. It's extremely important to me that everyone knows what they are getting into with this fic. It is nothing like my other fics. This one is a lot darker and the content is violently heavy.

I got this idea from a prompt that was sent to me a while ago on Tumblr: "Emily gets discharged from the military and is left depressed and suffering from PTSD. She's suicidal. She calls a suicide hotline and Alison is the operator." I thought about doing the prompt as a one-shot, but it turned into a short story.

If you're familiar with my work you know I try to keep plot points quiet. That being said, I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that this is going to have a HELLA lot of triggers. Be careful about reading. If you have trouble with being in a dark place in your mind then please *please* tread carefully.

I'd do individual trigger warnings (yeah, it's so dark that the author who sucks about doing trigger warnings is like "trigger, trigger, trigger") for each one, but the fact of the matter is that the entire story itself is basically one giant trigger.

If you want to read, but have certain things that trigger you, message me to let me know what it is and I'll tell you if it's part of the story. The last thing I want to do here is cause a real problem while writing a fictional world. But a lot of you asked for dark. You're going to get dark.

This one is rated M, for SO many reasons...

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Chapter 1:

The Wounds of War

War is not hell. Surviving it is.

It's not their screams that haunted her the most. It wasn't the deafening explosions that rocked her to her core. It wasn't the gunfire or the blood or the complete chaos that was the hardest part. It was what came after. The silence. Because in that moment, when everything was quiet, she knew without a doubt...everyone she loved was gone. And she was still alive. Barely. It didn't seem fair. It seemed downright cruel.

She wasn't sure how bad her injuries were. She just knew she was bleeding and she couldn't move. She thought for sure she'd just black out and that would be the end of it. But instead, she laid there in agony for hours, completely cognizant and feeling every last bit of her pain.

The dying cries and the pleas for help of everyone in her squad slowly dissipated as light broke into the sky. And then all she had to keep her company was the corpse of the person she'd refused to leave. Her best friend. Her brother.

Memories of their childhood were like flickering echoes in her mind. She could hear his laughter as he pulled her around in his Radio Flyer wagon. She could feel the whoosh of wind on her legs as they challenged one another to swing higher on the swings, pumping their legs as hard as they could. She could smell the burned cheese from all the grilled cheese sandwiches he'd made them. She could see the determined look on his face when he taught her how to throw a punch.

She looked over and could see the blood covering them both in the light of day. His naturally tan skin was devoid of its color. The bright vibrant mischievous smile he'd always worn had been replaced by a fixed grimace that would haunt her forever. She was still gripping the lapel of his jacket.

Come back. Please. Please come back. I can't do this without you.

She wanted to cry, but she had nothing left. So she just laid there with one thought echoing over and over in her head.