There's inevitably in the gritty sand that cuts into Keith's calloused palms. It's everywhere he looks, the tell of death that curves every corner. The 'why try' that haunts him before he even steps foot into Garrison. Sometimes, over a cold cup of coffee or in an abandoned bathroom stall with no breath left in his lungs, he wishes he had never applied at all.
Fighting in a war had never been something he had planned on doing. He didn't care enough about the country he lived in, didn't particularly find anything worth living or dying for. He had no one to come home to, and maybe that would have been a reason to go for some, but coming home to dusty, quiet floorboards seemed worse than never leaving them.
One foster parent- he couldn't remember anything about them other than the heavy scent of leather and a bristly ginger beard that had looked just like fire- had called him an over thinker. An 'angry one.' The fiery man had sighed. 'Overthinks the little things you do, didn't think before you socked that kid in the face though, yeah?'
He hadn't answered back then, just nursed his busted lip and scowled into it bled again. But now he screams. High and low until his throat feels fit to tear, feels like someone had taken a cheese grater to his lungs, he chokes on imaginary blood and collapses back into the hot sand as if he'd never left at all. As if he'd never fought a war, as if all the fallen soldiers were nothing more than a goddamn dream.
And maybe they were.
Keith feels crazy, as he stares at the sky. He feels alone too, and that's as much proof as he has that anything had happened at all. He'd become accustomed to company, warm and cold alike until he'd become nothing more than a glorified house cat. Needy and so fucking lonely in a desert too big and yet so small.
He wonders when he had become so dependent on the sweet solace of having someone around. Wondered when the cold accustoms of solitary had worn off; slowly chipped away by warm words and cold hands.
The Keith before war had stared up at the stars and dreamt to touch them. Now Keith feels like the long dead lights are calling him back. The stars feel mocking though, and Keith remains where he is.
When the sky begins to warm with the promise of daylight, he stands. He's thirsty and cold and his limbs tingle and ache with the long held position. The tired soldier stands on shaky legs and begins his trek to nowhere.
