The white snow is falling, one by one, layering the quiet grounds of my neighborhood. In the distance, I can see the useless sun, shining bright in the sky. However, the atmosphere I’m a part of is filled with darkness.
One day, as I sat on my on my porch. I notice the khaki color of my door frame chips away more, every year it lives, similar to the way I flake away. I tell myself, when I walk through this gateway, I’m suppose to feel protected from all harms, I’m suppose to feel comfortable, and like I belong; however, when I limp through the front door of my “home” every morning, I receive the same feeling of unfamiliarity. ✴ ✴ ✴ I can still remember life in the front line of the war: the dirty …show more content…
Teddy use to come to me for advice, or just to have a nice conversation, during our down time. One day he told me that every time he would fall asleep, he would have dreams replaying the time he killed an enemy soldier, by shoving a knife through his throat. When he told me this I read his facial expressions, and could tell that the murder that he committed, eats at him whenever he thinks of it. One day, when I was attacked by boredom, I went to the place where he laid his head to give him advice. When I opened the door, I saw a pool of blood, staining the antique wooden floors, resting next to the colossal cut that was placed on Teddy’s pale neck. Immediately upon this sight, I grew angry. I wasn’t mad that my friend had killed himself; I was mad at myself because I didn’t care that my friend killed himself. The event of someone committing suicide seemed normal to me. I have seen it done before, and I knew I was going to come across it …show more content…
I now realize that the stage of near death, that I was in when I was on the front line, is my home. In spite of all the brutal outcomes that is produce by war, I finally grasp the fact that in those dark trenches on the frontline of war is where I am suppose to be, I realize witnessing the suicides of soldiers is a regular routine to me, like the way people brush their teeth in the morning, in their homes, and I now realize the fact that I stayed alive all this time was because I am experienced, comforts me, like how laying under a cozy blanket will comfort people. In this very moment I come to realize that in the environment of war, is where I fit in, and
One day, as I sat on my on my porch. I notice the khaki color of my door frame chips away more, every year it lives, similar to the way I flake away. I tell myself, when I walk through this gateway, I’m suppose to feel protected from all harms, I’m suppose to feel comfortable, and like I belong; however, when I limp through the front door of my “home” every morning, I receive the same feeling of unfamiliarity. ✴ ✴ ✴ I can still remember life in the front line of the war: the dirty …show more content…
Teddy use to come to me for advice, or just to have a nice conversation, during our down time. One day he told me that every time he would fall asleep, he would have dreams replaying the time he killed an enemy soldier, by shoving a knife through his throat. When he told me this I read his facial expressions, and could tell that the murder that he committed, eats at him whenever he thinks of it. One day, when I was attacked by boredom, I went to the place where he laid his head to give him advice. When I opened the door, I saw a pool of blood, staining the antique wooden floors, resting next to the colossal cut that was placed on Teddy’s pale neck. Immediately upon this sight, I grew angry. I wasn’t mad that my friend had killed himself; I was mad at myself because I didn’t care that my friend killed himself. The event of someone committing suicide seemed normal to me. I have seen it done before, and I knew I was going to come across it …show more content…
I now realize that the stage of near death, that I was in when I was on the front line, is my home. In spite of all the brutal outcomes that is produce by war, I finally grasp the fact that in those dark trenches on the frontline of war is where I am suppose to be, I realize witnessing the suicides of soldiers is a regular routine to me, like the way people brush their teeth in the morning, in their homes, and I now realize the fact that I stayed alive all this time was because I am experienced, comforts me, like how laying under a cozy blanket will comfort people. In this very moment I come to realize that in the environment of war, is where I fit in, and