The Wolf's Marine

Flashbacks

It doesn't take me long to get home from the bait shop. And when I pull up and park, the only vehicle in the yard is Mom's car. Good. I don't have to deal with anything too bad then.

And sure Mom sided with the bastard and not me, but that's her choice. And as much as I hate it, I'm gonna respect her decision.

I slide on out of the truck and go to the passenger side to grab my box. I climb up and grab it before heading up to the house.

I struggle to hold the box and open the door at the same time. So I set it down and try to open the door.

The knob won't turn, meaning Mom locked it. Typical Mom, always locking it so no one can get in.

I rap my knuckles against the door three times, then I wait. A minute goes by and no one comes to the door. I try again. Still nothing.

I can hear the lake calling me, telling me it's time to go fishing. I need to go fishing, so I pound on the door with all my might, practically shaking the old farm house.

"I'm coming! Hold your horses!" She shouts from somewhere inside the house. I squat down, my prosthetic leg almost slipping on the welcome mat.

I grab the box and stand back up. Impatiently waiting for her to open up the front door.

I heat footsteps, and then the dead bolt unlocking. The door opens a crack and Mom looks out.

"Oh it's just you Storm." She sighs in relief as she opens the door all the way. She steps to the side and I slip past her and up the stairs.

"What do you have in that big box?" She calls up as I reach my bedroom door. "Nothing you need to worry about." I yell back as I set the box down. I quickly open the door and set the box on my bed, before going back for my gun.

Mom doesn't even notice me as I walk past her, she's too busy watching something on her phone.

I get my gun up to my room with no questions from Mom, mostly because she's too involved with her phone to care about/notice what I'm doing.

My gaze goes from my precious gun, to my reflection in the mirror. My eyes go to my right cheek, a small, one inch scar runs along it.

Looking at this reminds me of the horrors of war. My mind goes back to Afghanistan, and the things that happened there.

Flashback
My men and I were scouting out an area, being silent as usual. When a lone gunshot rings out, warm blood splatters across my face.

A sharp pain slices through my cheek just milliseconds after the blood splatter. Jake falls to the ground, and I do the same.

I crawl forward and cradle his head in my lap. Trying my best to stop his neck wound from bleeding.
End of flashback

More gunshots ring out, bombs detonating follow. I cover my ears with my hand and crumple to the ground. The shots continue to go past, and as they do I curl up in the fetal position.

I'm trying my best to keep the sounds out of my ears, but the screams of agony are loud, and they slip through my fingers to my eardrums.

My eyes are clenched shut, the tears still slips through though. I choke back cries of fear, and my throat burns as a result.

It's a good fifteen minutes before the sounds go away and I start to calm down. Whenever I have a flashback of Afghanistan, I have a breakdown.

I take a few deep breaths before rising to my feet. I wipe the last of the tears away before looking in the mirror once again.

"God, you look bad." A voice says from behind me. I don't even turn around, I know no one's there.

I've heard voices like this before, my only logical explanation is that I'm crazy. But to ease the thought of being crazy, I like to think it's ghosts speaking to me. Which also might mean I'm crazy, but whatever.

"Storm, get changed and go fishing." The voice says. "Do it for us! We don't have that luxury anymore." Multiple voices say.

My eyes move from my face, to the space to my left. I can see them there, three of my buddies who died. Jake, Leo, and Jack.

I blink and then they're gone. "I really am going crazy." I sigh as I strip out of my clothes.

I place all of my weapons on my bed and then I go to the closet for a change of clothes.

I throw on a red flannel and a pair of jeans. As I'm zipping up my jeans, I think about bringing my 9mm. But I'm just going fishing, so I shouldn't need it. I doubt I'll have to shoot any fish.

So instead of putting my gun holster on my belt and I put my knife sheath on it. I slip my knife in and smile.

After I'm fully dressed, I rummage through my bag and grab my dog tags. I hang them around my neck.

"I don't want Mom to see I was crying." I mumble quietly as I grab a hat and sunglasses. She'll only ask questions about it, and she doesn't need to know about what just happened.

Then again, she'll probably be too involved in her phone to notice. But just incase I'm sticking with my sunglasses.

I quietly slip out of my room and downstairs. Just as I get to the door I notice Mom watching me like a hawk.

"Where are you going?" She asks suspiciously. I want to say a smart ass comment like earlier. But I just bite my tongue.

"I'm going fishing. I'll be back before dark." I reply sweetly before dashing out the door and to the garage.

The garage houses all of the best fishing and hunting gear known to my family.

I flip the light on, and my mouths falls open in awe. Dad must have added some new things to our collection, because there is multiple new fishing rods.

I tentatively take a fews steps forward before I walk forward with confidence. My mind says to go for the new rods, but my heart says go for the old.

I listen to my heart and grab my favorite old rod. I quickly flip the light off and leave. I don't want to dwell there too long because if I do, I won't be fishing till tomorrow.

I place the rod in the back of my truck, and I hop into the cab. And off I go flying down the dirt road.