You Are On My Mind

Dark Night, Dark Thoughts

"Do you think dying hurts?"
"What?" Danny looked to his friend.
"Do you think dying hurts?"
"Depends on how, when, and where you die." The two men were silent for a minute before Danny asked, "out of curiosity, why do you ask?"
"I was just thinkin', man. I mean, I'm totally okay with dying out here. I've got nothing to go home for. But you've got a girl, and a family. And after what happened to Tom.... does dying hurt?"
"Again, it depends. Tom was..." Danny sighed, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Tom was blown up. That's pretty instantaneous. So he probably didn't feel a lotta pain. But if you were shot, and bled out, then yeah. That'd be painful."
~~~~~~~
"Danny?"
"It's okay. You're fine. We'll get you outta here."
"Remember when... when I asked about... dying?"
He only nodded, biting his tongue.
"Son of a bitch hurts."
He felt like crying, "don't talk."
"Go back to the states. Ask- ask that girl to- to marry you."
He couldn't think about that now. "You're gonna be okay. Just hang in there."
He chuckled, then winced in pain. "Damn, it hurts."
************
Danny sighed as he stared at the ceiling in the darkness. He hated how the memories of Fallujah would sneak up on him. He'd be having the time of his life, and suddenly have a flashback. It made his throat go dry, his palms sweat, stomach flip, and heart pound. Going into combat was the bravest and stupidest thing he had ever done. He should've just gone to college; maybe he did flunk the SATs, but he could have gotten in another way. Tech schools would probably have excepted him; at eighteen, he would've been barely old enough to join the academy. Why didn't he just do that? Why didn't he stay in the states?
Danny sighed once again and ran a hand over his face. Why, oh why, did he always have to question his life decisions at two in the morning? Or at all? Why couldn't he just except the past and move forward?
~~~~~~~~~~
Danny swallowed the tears and anger as he watched his friend die. He sat there for more minutes than he should have, before breathing heavily. He stood up and walked away, vowing he would take down any SOB who ever hurt anyone he loved. He now had a vengeance, a vengeance to keep him going.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Danny put his hand over his eyes and gripped the sheets. He wanted to yell and scream and cry and hurl all at once. He decided he couldn't stay in the room any longer, in fear of waking his sleeping wife. She hadn't been feeling the greatest lately, causing her to stay up at night in pain.
***********
Linda wandered down to the first floor, knowing exactly where her husband had ended up. She walked into the kitchen, and was surprised not to find him there. After surveying the living room, she walked down to the basement. There she found him in his pajama pants, hitting the punching bag. When she saw that he had no gloves on, her breath audibly hitched in her throat.
Danny caught the bag and sighed, hanging his head. "Didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't. What are you doing down here?" She walked up to him, holding back the urge to look at his knuckles.
"Just... I had some pent up energy. I figured I'd... get it out."
Linda watched his chest rise and fall, telling her he had been down here for a while. She noticed his breathing was a little tight, causing her concern. "Danny, are you okay?"
"Yeah," he breathed, barely hiding the crack in his voice. He was far from okay, but he didn't want Linda to worry.
"Sit down," she held his hand and led him to the futon. "I don't like how you're breathing."
"I'm breathing... fine." Danny lied again. He wasn't short of breath because he had worked hard. He was short of breath because he was trying not to have an anxiety attack.
"No, you're not." Before Linda could explain, Danny sneezed twice. With the sneezes came the tears he so desperately tried to hold back. His wife's heart broke and she held him while he gripped her pajama shirt.
Why was he like this? Why was he broken? Why had he been the one to make it out alive?