The Stuff of Nightmares Part 4
He got home – eventually. He didn't speak for quite a while – couldn't. But what he couldn't say out loud he dreamed.
Smells. The smell of cordite.
Sounds. The laughter of the guards.
Images. The sightless ruin of the young man's face.
Memories that had him crying out in the night when he couldn't whisper in the day.
The worst memory was the feeling of sheer joy, thankfulness that it hadn't been him. He never told them how the Lieutenant had died. He kept the secret tight and hidden.
Gradually he came back to himself, but part of him had been lost forever.
He got home – eventually. He didn't speak for quite a while – couldn't. But what he couldn't say out loud he dreamed.
Smells. The smell of cordite.
Sounds. The laughter of the guards.
Images. The sightless ruin of the young man's face.
Memories that had him crying out in the night when he couldn't whisper in the day.
The worst memory was the feeling of sheer joy, thankfulness that it hadn't been him. He never told them how the Lieutenant had died. He kept the secret tight and hidden.
Gradually he came back to himself, but part of him had been lost forever.