Cicatrices Remanent
The officer formally known as Major Charles Emerson Winchester III was beyond overjoyed when he stepped foot into his beloved Boston. Boston. A town of civilization, decently, manners but most of all, people. Not that most of the people in Korea were inhuman, only his former bunkmates who were more ogres than men.
The first step off the plane, he let out a deep sigh. It was a sigh of relief and pleasantry. He was home. He was back and soon to be in charge of Thoracic Surgery at Boston General. There was no fanfare to meet him; his parents would never be caught dead acting like hooligans at the homecoming like many families did to their sons. Besides, it was like they were never going to see each other again. A Winchester never dies.
When Charles walked on solid concrete ground on the way to the car that his parents had sent for him, that was when he was more settled on the idea that he was home. For three years he had walked on dirt something that no Winchester should ever endure. And yet he did. And yet he survived. Barely but he was here. He grinned at the driver and he got his luggage and himself into the car.
"So nice to see you return, Sir," the driver had said in the familiar Boston accent. "I know that your parents and Honoria will be more than joyous to see that you have returned." He slammed the door and headed back to the front, purred the motor one and going in motion. Charles mumbled a "thank you" and closed his eyes to remember this very moment. Home. Such sweet melody that brought joy to the man's ears.
As the drive went on, the driver turned on the radio and the sound of classical music filled the car. Startled, Charles' eye bolted right open and the memories that he was trying to forget have returned to him once more. The piece that was playing: Clarinet Quintet in A, K. 581, by the one and only Mozart. Coincidence or torture, Charles still does not know.
Normally, Charles would conduct his way through the song as he imagined the orchestra right in front of him. Instead, he only saw a Chinese prisoner of war dead in front of him. Out of the six men, he was the only one who'd come so far to a MASH unit. Why it had to be Charles' unit still haunts him to this day. Never again would he be able to enjoy such a wonderful piece without being reminded of the purgatory he had to go through. Music was an escape, he told his unit, now it was a reminder.
Charles tried to hide the slight tears that were coming. He knows that like what Pierce did, he had to face that demon in order to get better. But what happens if that demon was your whole life? A life that was destroyed in just a moment. Just a glance at the face of the prisoner, a glance at his mediocre band trying to comply with what Charles wanted. There was no justice. There was no fair game. For the rest of his life, Charles would have to play this battle and replay the faces of Korea that he desperately wanted to forget. Deep down, he knows, however, that was never going to happen. Any remainder of that place would destroy him.
"Driver," Charles called irritable. "Please kindly lower that. It's interfering with my thoughts."
The driver, stunned at the request did what he was told and realized just that that maybe, a war can really change people after all, even a hard core Winchester.
*Title meaning: "The Scars Remain" in Latin*