The Veteran

He kept the meetings with his doctor brief.

Every day was spent taking a walk around the park in the mornings, eating a vegan sandwich at the deli, and listening to Japanese Opera at night. The soothing whale sounds from his mp3 player helped him sleep.

Without them, he'd be awake all night, holding on to his rifle with his red eyes bulging as he waited for a 'commie' to crawl through his window.

The horrors in Vietnam were never forgotten, and unfortunately, when it was all over, his wife and children welcomed a monster back home.

The divorce was a terrible experience; the variety that one could never really forget. Ever.

The neighbors avoided him like a plague, and the benefits that the government had assured old geezers like him were long forgotten. He was alone in this path - many of the soldiers who he'd met in the frontlines were either dead, in prison, in a psychiatry home, or too old, sick or arthritic to come visit,

So was he.

Every night, as he listened to the high-tuned voices of the Japanese girls at the Peking Opera from his little Television Box, he dreamed of running through trenches, fearing for landmines and gunning down men without remorse.

A dream of better days.