When wars take place in a country tired of fighting for something they no longer believe in, the consequences become much more brutal. Demonstrations and a sense of defeat flood the population, and therefore those whose spirits are unsettled begin to take action and make the fight theirs. That's why when Curly came back from Vietnam in January 1969, he had to fight with all his aim to fight the inner and outer demons he came up against. He knew Vietnam was no joke, but, he didn't expect it to be as it turned out to. He wasn't expecting a decadent smell 24/7, dying or already dead corpses laying beside him, and sure as hell he wasn't prepared to live in a cage about five feet wide, six feet long and six feet deep for eight months. That was meant to keep beasts inside, not people, but maybe they were beasts? Could that be it? Were they really seen as beasts by those North Vietnamese captors? He didn't care now. He was soon to arrive home. To Tim. To Angela. To his crazy mother. To his fucked up stepdad. To reality all over again. He was told to take it easy for a while, his leg was still healing if it ever were to heal, his immunologic system was weak, and a fever was already consuming him as they flew over Oklahoma. He couldn't wait to arrive home and sleep, his heart was racing, he kept finding himself in the middle of the jungle, surrounded by corpses and worms and all kind of crazy stuff. He hoped that wouldn't happen at home. They didn't need more madness. As minutes went by he started to tremble and sweat and fuck, it was cold inside that shitty plane they were traveling in. Due to cutbacks made by the government to tame the roaring crowds, they were given the worst treatment. He was getting drowsier and dizzier by the minute and a nurse approached him.

"Are you feeling okay dear?"

"Couldn't you get the temperature a bit higher? It's fuckin' freezing in here" argued I. She approached me and, as a mother would, gently placed her hand on my forehead. I tried to swat it, but decided against it because it felt fucking good against my clammy forehead. She put on a frown and crouched in front of me.

"You're burning up sweetie, is anyone coming by to pick you up? You can't go home alone like this."

"Yeah, my brother is supposed to be there. I called him before boarding." I really wasn't sure if he was coming, but he sounded worried on the phone when I called him. If I didn't know him better I'd have sworn he was tearing up. I still remember it as if it were yesterday.

"You only got five minutes kid, you need to rest, and besides, international calls aren't especially cheap"

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off" was my response to the warden. He looked at me with pity since my voice was strained and I was as white as a paper sheet. He left me alone and I dialed the number, praying to God that Tim would answer instead of Ma or that bastard who lives with her. Angela wouldn't be that bad either, but I don't think I could put up with her crying when she heard my voice. Finally, someone picked up the phone and I chose that moment to answer.

"Tim?"

"Curly? Fuck, is it you?" Answered Tim tentatively

"Yeah, back from the other world" if I didn't put some mockery in my response I was sure he'd notice I was on the verge of tears.

"Fuck kid, are you okay? They told us you were MIA eight months ago. Angela went crazy. Couldn't get her to stop crying for a week. You know how she is.'' And he suffocated a laugh.

"I'm in a hospital in Vietnam. Been here for a month. I wasn't allowed out of bed tho, that's why I didn't call sooner. Uh… uh I just called to say that I'm leaving tomorrow for the States. They are getting rid of us. They say there are too many people. The cutbacks are for real man."

"Okay, okay kid. So what happened?" You could easily hear his worry, pa's bitching in the background and Ma's indifference. Home sweet home.

"I can't really walk that good. Left leg is paralyzed. They don't know if I'll ever get it going again. I need to use crutches. A couple of broken ribs. Weak immunological system. That about sums it up." I gave him the rundown as if I were the surgeon instead of the victim. Funny.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get you out of here so you didn't have to go Curly, I'm really sorry" he sounded really cut up about it. I was beginning to get tired and I was running out of time.

"Listen Ti…'' my fucking legs were starting to throb and hurt again. It may sound weird, but even if it was paralyzed and I couldn't use it, it still hurt like hell. I had to regain my breath to keep talking and Tim noticed.

"Hey, you okay?"

"It's… it's just my legs. Booby trap left them in bad shape. Apparently, I'm lucky for not having them blown up. Listen, I gotta go. I need to get to bed. Orders. We'll be there around 7pm or so."

"Okay Curly. See you tomorrow. Take care kid"

"Bye Tim. See ya."

Just as I looked out of the window, trying to take in the fact that I no longer had to fight for my life, or so I hoped, Tulsa's airport came into view. There I was. Finally home after thirteen fucking months in Nam, if you count the month's stay in the hospital. A whole year away from everything I knew. A year that has turned me into a ghost of what I was prior to 1968.

Don't let them fool ya. War is hell.