Chapter one: The old times

He heard screaming, he heard bombing, and he heard his heart pounding when a new patient entered the hospital tent. It was a friend of his, well or so they said. They talked and laughed together sometimes and that was enough for both of them. The Doctor was ready to operate his companion's hand that had been injured with a bullet and so he started. But he couldn't focus, he felt numb and fall into the cold and hard soil.
John woke up sweating in his lonely bed. He stood up and went to his bathroom. He looked at the mirror and saw nothing but a broken man. He had huge dark circles under his eyes. He opened the tap, placed his hands cupped under it and wiped his face with the cold water.

John Watson was heading to his therapist with his cane, when he heard someone call his name "John! John Watson! Is that really you?" John turned around and saw his old mate from when he was a student at St. Bartholomew's Hospital , he almost didn't recognized him because of the extra weight he gained since the last time they saw each other. "Oh Mike, right? Mike Stamford! Hi" he replied "It's so good seeing you, John. So, how are you? What happened to your leg?" Mike had a big smile on his face, but John, on the other hand, was completely bored and didn't really want to chat with his old mate "Yeah, I got shot but I'm fine. I really have to go now. I'm sorry, but we'll sure see each other around sometime" he hoped this would work "Of course. Later, then" Mike said. John continued his walk to the therapist office for five more minutes and there he was. "John is good seeing you here today." said gently his therapist, she was a woman in her late 30's, she had a beautiful smile and very short hair."Hi." "So John, I was thinking about your case the other day and I thought of a really good therapy for you to adjust to the civilian life" "Well, and what's that?" "I think you should start blogging about your life and what happens to you" "There's the problem. I have nothing to blog about." "Come on John. At least try. It will help you adapt to this new life of yours after Afghanistan" John remembered the old times. He liked the action, he was never bored, always adrenaline rushing through his veins. But then with the good memories also came the bad ones. How he let his friend die in the operational table, and it was such a simple operation. He couldn't forgive himself for what he had done, not ever. That was why he left Afghanistan clamming he got shot in his left leg.

"Okay, I'll try. But nothing happens to me."