"Fighting The Past"

I open my eyes slowly, taking in the manila ceiling and close them again after only a single breath. The most painful breath I've ever taken. I try to sit up but I don't get more than a few inches before my arms collapse. Every breath, every slight movement is painful. But I try to push it away and listen. I hear a steady, rhythmic beeping somewhere. There are light footsteps and hushed voices. Taking a deep breath a sharp pain fills the left side of my body and pangs of disappointment fill me with the realization that I am indeed alive.

Despite the pain I try to sit up again, just to be forced down as the bed is raised for me by someone I can't see. I tilt my head and watch nurses all rushing around, the moans and groans of wounded as they're rushed by on stretchers and the nurse the just helped me checks a few of the screen on the computer before turning and heading to the door. I reach out to her, some feeble attempt to stop her from going.

"W-Whats going on?" I barely finish the sentence as pain spreads like wildfire through my chest and lungs and I give up on moving. The nurse doesn't slow, just shouts something and keeps moving. My vision blurs in and out as the pain comes and goes with every breath.

I resign my self to just lying here, shifting my eyes around the room I notice a small window, the bright afghan sun high in the sky over a somewhat familiar city. Smoke rising in the distance as gunfire and explosions rip through the air. The origin will stay a mystery, sometimes going in sync with the heart monitor and its never-ending beeps.

Time ticks by and the hospital slows as the influx of wounded from whatever battle is occurring comes to a stop. The gunfire halts to the occasional pop in the distance. The sun in the sky sets and rises. Nurses are in and out of my room, checking screens and putting drugs in my I.V. to dull the pain. But despite the sedatives, I can't bring myself to sleep.

I don't know what it is but whenever I get close my mind is flooded with everything that has happened to me. Everything I've done. Thoughts of Carly haunt me, pulling at my heart at times and others the mere thought of her just kills me inside. But there's always a little voice in the back of my head, quiet and barely audible. "She will be the end you."

I don't know why it's there but it doesn't go. It's always there. And when I'm not being plagued by her, it's just unintelligible screams. But I know some of them. I remember their voices. Flashes of how they looked before their deaths. Their sounds, guttural screams as their lives were ripped from them and I was powerless to stop it, any of it.

This pattern continues for some time. Doctors, in and out, nurses always coming and going. One of them told me what happened, made me remember. The chopper, the explosion. John and Tanner and the grenade. They told me how they brought me back here. Told me how I was in surgery for sixteen hours as they pulled out shrapnel and stitched up wounds.

They told me that I was dead for three minutes and twelve seconds. And they told me how I woke up during the operation, kicking and screaming. They spoke about how I was out for two weeks after and how close I was to death. They said I should be thankful to be alive, but I'm not.

One of the doctors told me I had acute stress disorder. He came in, all quiet and peaceful. He asked me about my childhood so I told him to go away. But he stayed, reciting things from my military file. I told him to stop, asked not to bring those things up. Despite the fact that they never left the back of my mind. He just had no right to talk about them. He pressed and pressed, told me things even though I wasn't listening. I didn't care, it didn't matter. But he kept talking.

Then he asked me how I felt about John, reading in my file the things I'd done to make sure he'd stay alive. The bullets I took for him, the danger I went through for him. He asked me why, I told him I don't know. I mumbled something about family and friends. And not knowing that I hadn't been told, he asked me how I felt about his death.

I think I knew, but hearing it hit me like a truck. I snapped and told him to fuck off. I tried to move, to get closer. I tried to hurt him. But all I did was stress my wounds. He left after that, leaving pills behind. Big words on small labels. Nothing he had done was normal, no month-long evaluation, just a few short talks, and pills. Once he was gone, for the first time in years, I let out a tear, more than a tear, I sobbed.

I cried and had to stop myself from wailing. I cried till my eyes were dry and I sat motionless, exhausted, and for the first time in days, I slept. It wasn't peaceful though. Flashes of sound and images curse my dreams. Day in and day out.

My eyes open and it's not from peaceful rest but rather horrific nightmares. I sit up, ignoring the pain. It doesn't bother me anymore. It's mind-numbing, incredibly intense, but I stopped caring. For day's I've been living in a daze, reliving things I wish didn't happen, my downfall.

More explosions ring outside the window and as time goes by they die down like all the rest. But the daze ends when I see a soldier. Helmet in his hands and covered in dirt. His fatigues caked in dust and dried blood. He's sitting outside my room on one of the temporary bunks as a nurse washes away blood and dirt. He stands and stops her. I see them chatting for a moment before she points to my room. He turns and I see his face, finding some solace as he walks over.

He gets to the edge of the room, standing in the doorway. He just looks at me for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. He doesn't say anything, though, he just pulls up a chair and sits next to the bed. We don't talk, we don't even look at each other. We just sit for what feels like hours. He looks at one of the unopened pill bottles for a moment before grabbing both and handing me some.

"Take'em. They'll help." For the first time, I notice just how exhausted he looks as I swallow the pills, too lost to disagree. "Get some sleep. We'll talk when you wake up. There are some things you need to hear."

I just nod and lie down as he walks away. And for the first time in a week, I sleep without hearing the screams. But not without the whisper or the pain.