I was Working a few nights ago. hope you like

Time pauses; I can almost see the bullets frozen in the air. My teammate stopped as he falls with an explosion of blood from his shoulder, “he’s better off than me.” I think calmly. The medic is frozen mid-step as he sprints to either me or Johnson. God, I hope he’s going to Johnson; I’m going fast and Johnson has a family. A terrorist is 20 yards down the alley, head thrown back with blood splattering out the left eye. Damn good thing too; we got him before he popped his vest.  Flash.

I’m twelve again and back in boy-scouts. I’m sitting around the camp-fire, not hearing ghost stories, but war stories from the leaders. I remember that at the moment looking around at the other scouts; we all had the same look. Flash.

I’m fourteen; it’s Tuesday morning and class A inspection for JROTC, as always, no gigs. I’m proud of myself and my brothers from boy scouts; our goal is still the same, to prepare for the military. Flash.

                The FNG is taking cover between two houses; I can see the muzzle flash of his M4. Mendoza, that’s his name, we all thought he would be praying in a ball somewhere at the first shot.  He’s a champ though, a true soldier. I can see the bullet heading toward his forehand. Flash.

                Seventeen now and on the football field. I'm the Captain of the Drill team and the best one in the state. My boys make up the team and with me at the head we are undefeated. After wards Johnny was hugging me, he had just asked his girl to marry him.

                I’m in Johnny’s arms, I see Mendoza covering us as I’m lowered to the ground. The bullet must have missed, I’m glad too; I was hoping he’d play his Spanish guitar at my burial. Flash.

                I’m eighteen, marching in the middle of the color guard. My high school life is over and my civilian life will end soon too. With everyone there standing, all eyes on me, and the American flag in my hands, I felt alive and free. Flash.

                     I’m smoking a Red and can hear Mendoza on the radio with Johnny working on Johnson. The hole in my chest has a bandage on it taped down on three sides. I laugh; I can see smoke come out of my wound when I take a drag. Flash.

                My right arm is at the square. My mother is crying, and my father’s memory is in my heart. Johnny is to my right swearing the oath along with me; he’d fallow me from boy scouts to my squad in Iraq. Of the ten of us, seven swore in that day, and all of us go back to the campsite at which we were inspired years ago. Flash.

                I see red smoke ten feet off, Johnson crying with his family photo in his hand and the other two are pulling guard. We are in a soccer field; I can see swings not far off. The birds are overhead; the wind is high and it’s pushing dirt out in a ripple. Then Mendoza comes to me and says something before picking me up. Flash

                My mother is hugging me and says she’s proud of me. My older sister says I look good in uniform then asks me to introduce her to one of the other soldiers I went through basic with. Over their shoulder I can see Johnny alone and hail him over. No one should be alone after graduating basic, if we weren’t brothers before, we wore then. Flash.

                It’s the day after my sixth birthday, near midnight when my mother wakes me. My father’s partner is sitting in the kitchen still in uniform, I saw him cry for the first that night and then again at Dad’s funeral.  The gang banger that shot him was in court within the month.  Flash.

                High wind wakes me and all I can see is exposed wires in the Blackhawk and an IV hanging overhead. Not much of a view laying down in a chopper. The flight medic notices me and takes my pulse and asks how I feel. A thumbs-up is all I can give him and he nods. He pulls out a small flash light and shines it in my eyes. Flash.

                My team is patrolling, same AO we always do, same time we always do. Mendoza notes the street is empty, and everyone is alert. Ambush, not thirty seconds later. Shots are fired from a back alley, and we take cover. A few seconds after three terrorists are down and we are making our way down the alley slowly and by the book. I move forward and spot a suicide bomber. “Boomer!” I yell before being hit in the chest and fall between two buildings. Flash.

                Cold sweat covers me as I snap up in my hospital bed. Johnson is awake next to me reading a novel  he picked up yesterday. He asks if I’m okay and I wave him off. Tomorrow I go back to the states, after a week here. The window is bright with snow fall, making me think of the dust storms in Iraq. Looks like I’ll be home for Christmas after all. After the nurse brings lunch and I eat go back to sleep. This time no nightmares, no memories of battle or better days, just…black.

after living in Germany for almost a year, I stand outside a bar in the snow with a beer and a cigarette. In this solitude I realize I've come a live way from the innocent untattooed, Mormon theater nerd that loves video games. It's apparent that I have changed, in the end is for the better, I traded my faith and optimism for a life of beer, women, and disconnection from my friends and family I was raised with. I also now have a future, and living a life of the one of the most honorable pursuits, the defense of nation that I was reared in and love. So I ask you was it worth my innocents? Is a future and safe guarding my family and friends worth it? after you read this you must think that I'm very melodramatic and depressed, but that is not the truth. In fact I'm a very happy person, but this thought has come to me off and on over the last week or so, and sometimes seeing your thoughts written makes them easier figure out and deal with. Your prince of cats Thomas