DONAVAN
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- Votes 28
- Parts 9
You're not the same when you leave a war. Wether it's Iraq, Afghanistan, or Iran. Point is, no matter what war you come home from you're damaged. Damaged mentally, physically, or both. For me it was both. Waking up in the dead of night hearing my brother, Danny, screaming in agony, begging not to leave him or having sudden pain jolt my body. Getting up at 2:00 in the morning, strapping on my prosthetic leg, and taking walk, just to clear my head. Or pacing the house with in with a gun clutched to my side and a knife in my hand. Seeing my fellow soldiers as if they were actually there and talking to them as if they could understand and speak back. I had what so many doctors called PTSD and the severest case of it. Level 4 or level black. I drug myself in and out of several constant alcoholic dazes, drugs, and counseling. I was teetering on the edge and was for a really long time. It changed when I got a chance to start over.
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Strands of your mind cling together like web to a slippery leaf bathed in the morning dew. You have seen both heaven and hell, witnessed the atrocities of war firsthand, and imagined a better life in the deepest, most intimate corners of your dreaming spirit. The wishes for peace and certainty you have once so desperately longed for, now lay trampled underneath the might of your mind's vivid horrors. What was once so bright and lively, now cowers in fear, clinging to gone memories like a shipwreck survivor to some lowly piece of driftwood. From the depths of hell, you arrived victorious, grasping the laurel wreath high above your head. Unrecognizable, with your empty eyes telling a story of innocence brutally taken away from the child curling in shame in the depths of your empty soul. Almost green you are, curly head, having grown up with a rifle by your bedside table, never knowing peace and quiet. Out of the pan that was the Kazdel Civil War and into the scorching flames of Lungmen, where life flows by on its own accord, here, you must learn to live once more. So put on your best facade, Let the reuniting trumpets ring a wild, And allow the city to swallow you whole. Here we are, a continuation of my previous work "Goodbye Curly Head", which sprawled into quite the epistle (but it wasn't really a letter, it's just long :P). Summarized in the most basic way possible, it's a story about a twenty-year-old Kazdel Civil War veteran who goes to Lungmen and has some troubles acclimating to the steady life presented before him. Sprinkle in a too-good-to-be-true offer and a freshly established logistics company, and you get Andy trying to make it big for as long as his deteriorating mental state lets him. I'd say it works as a standalone story for anyone who doesn't want to bother reading the first part. For now, at least. As always, please, pwwease leave a comment, positive, negative, I LOOOVE reading and replying to comments!!
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