Ronald Speirs Imagine #5

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  There he lay, in a knot of blankets and sheets as his sleeping body tossed and turned. Sweat dripped down his forehead as shined off the rest of his body. His brown hair sticking to his soaked forehead. Small grunts and low whines escaped his lips as the horrors of the war he had just left replayed throughout his mind. His fingers dug into the sheets, gripping them tight enough that it created small tears in the fabric. 

  Ronald's eyes shot open as he let out a loud and exasperated gasp. His body lurched upwards as his chest heaved. Sweat slowly dripping down his bare and now exposed skin. He ran a hand through his sopping hair and tried to regulate his breathing. 

  Ronald Speirs wasn't one for letting his emotions show. Well, besides anger and his threat of authority. Especially back in the war. He was a legend among every man in the Army Paratroopers. He was terrifying none the least. Rumors had gone around the companies about how he murdered a group of German soldiers that had surrendered themselves over to them. Offering them each a cigarette and lighting them for them. Just to go off into a shooting spree and killing at least twenty of them. Or was it forty? Hell, nobody really knew if it was true or not. There had been rumors that he shot some sergeant, or was he a private. Though, the truth was that Ronald was a ruthless man. He was mean, tough, and wasn't afraid of dying. He had beaten a Replacement nearly to death with the rest of Easy Company after the Replacement had shot an NCO.  

  Now here the Veteran was. Lying in his bed, in a pool of sweat, tears welled in his eyes after another night of being awoken from all the things he put himself through throughout the war. Ronald's eyes darted to the small clock that rested on his nightstand within his small room. It was just big enough for him. Which he didn't mind. It wasn't like he had anyone to share it with.

  The clock read '5:43 AM' . Ronald sighed heavily as he threw the already sprawled blankets and sheets to the side. Throwing his legs to one side of the mattress, planting his hands at either side of him. His head hanging low as his breathing was now at a normal pace. Only a few droplets of sweat now dropped onto the hardwood floor that his feet rested on. 'Might as well start the day, Right?' he thought to himself as his pushed himself up to stand. The cold air that came in through his his slightly cracked window, sending a shiver down his spine. Ronald closed his eyes for a moment, collecting his thoughts, and opening them. Going over to his dresser and digging out a pair of pants and a shirt. Pulling the pants over his long legs and over his boxers. Pulling the shirt over his head and pushing his arms through the holes. With another heavy sigh he ran his hands over his face and through his knotted hair. Walking to the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. Placing his hands on the rim of the bathroom sink, resting his weight down on it as he stared into the mirror. 

  Deep purple bags rested beneath his eyes. Ronald's eyes a light red from both not sleeping and the common acts of crying. He just huffed and pushed himself off the sick. Turning around to exit and walk into the main area of his home. His lips pressed together tightly as he walked over to the front door. Grabbing his jacket and slipping it over his arms. His eyes went up to the clock that hung up on a wall. The time now was 6:57. The sun was already almost completely up by now. Ron went and slipped on his shoes. Deciding that maybe a cup of coffee at a local diner would cheer him up and help him wake up for the day.

  As he walked out of his house and shut the door behind him, he let the cool morning air hit him. Rushing over his body. Ronald inhaled the fresh air deeply, letting it flow around within his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling it back into the air. He immediately felt his tense muscles loosen. He looked forward down the sidewalk and took one more deep breath and shoving his permanent scarred and calloused hands  deep into his jacket pockets. Making his way down the pavement, keeping his gaze slightly down and avoiding everyone's view.

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