A/N : Ahhh, Thanks for all your wonderful reviews guys. As a new writer it really made my day. I will definately take into account the insightful criticism and compliments that I recevied. A warning to all the readers, I know very little about the military or if the White House is even allowed to do such a thing, but for the sake of the story it had to be done. I did do my googling on highest ranking officers in the army but i guess the internet cannot always be trusted. lol. By the way, I don't know how many missions Booth has been on or his rank so I made them up to fit the story. i have been in an angsty mood for like the past week and this was the story that came out of it. Enjoy!
The door whirred open, revealing a downtrodden Booth. Slamming it shut, he chucked his keys across the apartment and wandered into the bedroom. Head resting limply in his exhausted hands, Booth sat at the edge of his bed, the mounting frustration coursing through his veins. Red numbers glared eerily through the recesses of the darkness. Booth's eyes shifted to the clock.
"12:56 a.m., shit."
He felt the numbing affects of his recent intake of alcohol warm his body as he sauntered over to the closet. Booth grabbed the wrinkled, overused military knapsack out of the hidden corner and threw it on the bed. Packing all the necessary items, he shoved his crisp suits angrily out of the way and gently took his Ranger uniform from its resting spot.
"The soldier's alive once more." He whispered, draping the pressed outfit across his bed. Tears glistened in his somber eyes; flashes of pain, torture and death burst through the barred door of his forgotten memories.
"So real . . . it was all too real." Falling to the floor, Booth grabbed his head, a horrific torment pounding relentlessly into his temples; the rapid beating of his heart thumping agonizingly against his scarred chest. "Oh, god . . . no." Hallucinations devour all sense of reality, leaving him floundering in a hurricane of savage vengeance.
I am in a black valley surrounded by burning trees and dead bodies. The air smells of smoke and flesh which invade my nostrils. The haunting screams of the dead echoing in my bloody ears, leaving my body frozen from the horror. My sight is clouded by crimson blood that suffocates my soul and mind, while warm, oozing liquid flows through my battered hands. They march closer. I reach for my gun but they're tearing at me with dead, icy fingers, dragging me into the burning abyss of lost souls.
"Nooooooo! Please, STOP!" Booth screamed. Snatching a lamp he hurled it at his attackers. The lamp smashed into tiny pieces, dusting the room in a cloud of broken glass. Booth wiped his drenched brow and shook his throbbing head vigorously. The nightmares receded back into their home, waiting patiently for their next moment of attack.
Booth sidestepped the shards of glass and burst through the bathroom door and dowsed his face in freezing water. Looking in the mirror, all he saw was a hollow murderer.
"So many lives . . . what kind of person does that!" The swirling rage reached its boiling point and exploded into a fit of violent attacks. Booth smashed the deceitful mirror and pummeled his fists into the bathroom wall. Plaster flew all around him as he voiced his thoughts in an infuriated cry, "I'm not a murderer! I'm a damn hero! Someone one who served his country proudly and all I get in return is fucking suicide mission!" Booth halted his tirade and huffed loudly, all his breath lost in the forgotten cry.
Leaving the destroyed room in shambles, Booth staggered over to his uniform and fingered the worn cloth. "Ranger's lead the way," He breathed, verging on acceptance of his fate. "But there is one thing I must do."