As I continue to hide, and the rain continues to pour, my mouth makes no positive response as I chew on the stale dried out biscuits that make up my dinner. My jaws routinely open and close, crunching down on the brittle combination of oats and wheat. I count to three in my head, and use my throat muscles to force the chewed up food down my throat. It moves down slowly, scratching at my internal skin, like paws scraping down the earthy walls, as the animal tries to avoid the deadly pit it is falling into. My stomach screams in objection, and the muscles go into an uncontrollable fit at this unusual visitor that has arrived. A few more swallows and maybe my stomach will welcome the visiting food.
I will sit at the head of my table, like a king in his throne at his own feast. My mouth waters with anticipation as it waits for the order to journey from my brain to my hand, to transfer some of the glorious food from the table to my mouth. The hot steaming food fills my mouth and moves gracefully around. My tongue becomes excited by every taste. It slides effortlessly down my throat and my stomach moans lowly with pleasure, receiving the food with as much joy as a child receives new toys on Christmas day.
No matter what direction I turn my head, my eyes are met with faces of despair. Eyes glowing with fear stare back at me, silently pleading with me for help. I know that my own eyes are portraying the same image to the other soldiers. Unshaven men in dirty clothes lie all around me. Fingernails caked with dirt clasped around their bestfriends, the only thing that can save them, their gun. Every surface is linked together with the same dark, unclean red colour, and fresh bullets of red drip from teared and burnt skin onto the untouched surfaces until every tint of colour is meshed together in the same shade of terror. Bodies lie still, and if it wasn’t for their gruesome distorted features, they might look peaceful and at rest. My body is drained of energy, but the war is not, it goes on and on. In the distance I can see the continuation of the battle, men running, men falling and men dying. The oranges of fire light up my view and explosions ignite the sky, just like fireworks at a celebration. Where I am, it is only a dead man’s celebration.
At home huge rays of colour will shine in my eyes. The sunbeams will come through the window and I will have to raise my hand for shade. Lively colours jump out of the wall from the floral wallpaper, projecting an atmosphere of happiness and life all around. I can stare into the distance, and my searching eyes are met with never ending fields and a bright blue sky. I will see laughter and playfulness; I shall joy and love as the birds sweep down from the trees and bees buzz around the flowers. My eyes can look away without the sadness that one has when it leaves its treasure behind. I can look into the beautiful face of my wife and I’ll be mesmerised, and suddenly nothing else will seem to matter. Contentment and pleasure will run through my body like electricity running through a cable.
My brain has become accustomed to the ongoing screeching sound inside my head. My ears drum loudly at each noise. The echoes of gun shots and explosions dance evilly around me, indulging in the trepidation it creates within me. It grasps at me, and it chokes me, killing of my screams. The intoxicating vapours of decay and death seep through my skin and flows up through my nostrils into my body, and into my soul. I can feel death, I can taste it, and I can even smell its ghastly stench. I collapse as death overwhelms my senses.
So many smells drift around the house. Pleasantly tickling the fine hairs that line the inside of my nose. Awakening me completely, and forcing me to take notice of the sources of the many sweet scents. My wife’s perfume floating through the air, creating a trail behind, and yet still hanging onto her just like her shadow would. The smell of bread roasting in the oven travels through the air in swirls of steam, floating into my mouth, I can taste the vapours and I can almost feel the warm sensation in my stomach that will come when I eat the bread.
My arrival at home was not as perfect as I had imagined. As I looked at my wife, it was a similar experience to looking into the face of a stranger, but a beautiful stranger. If I stared at her too long, her face would transform before me into a hideous monstrous face, just like those that existed at war. She bombarded me with questions; she was overcome with happiness. I felt no bond between us as there had once been, no understanding and no love. I knew there was a kind of love, but it was not the love as I had remembered it. It was something strange and abnormal. I was surrounded by meaningless joy; there was nothing to remind me of the tormenting days I had been through. I had been living in a nightmare with every other man, and my wife had been living in her own world of bliss. I grew bitter and resentful. Nothing here was familiar; I could not call my house my sanctuary. It was over taken by a new wave of feeling, one I didn’t know how to react to. Also, it was taken over by a new human. A boy, my boy, my son, my flesh and blood, but I felt nothing for him. He was simply an ill mannered, spoiled little child. I felt like I had been rejected by my wife for this new form of life. He stuck by her side, and I could see a closeness between them that I doubted I could ever feel with anyone ever again. I didn’t know how to belong anymore. I could have went back to war and died peacefully in a world I had come to understand, it became obvious that I belonged in the battle, and should have stayed with the fighting until death.
