In the muddy trenches, where shadows linger like ghosts, Private William felt the weight of the world in every step he took. The war had turned his youth into a distant memory, and the horrors of combat etched fine lines into his young face that spoke of a lifetime of suffering. William huddled in a corner, his breath visible in the cold, dense air. Days were always much easier for William. Days brought no time to think, except for the thoughts of survival. Night, on the other hand, was a different story. Night brought about hard reflection and bitter sweet memories. This particular night seemed like Satan himself encircled him in a deep black, starless sky with no morning light in sight. As the blanket of darkness encompassed him so did the thoughts that waged a war inside his head. He began to reflect on his two different lives, the two different individuals who shared his face.
He traced his fingers around the edges of a dirty, crumpled letter from home, its edges worn from countless readings. A piece of paper that reminded him of whom he once was, and of the fond memories of his youth, family, and loved ones. The touch of the letter brought memories of being a young man full of hopes and dreams. Hopes of living a full life filled with adventure, joy, and dreams of being a hero who fought for the freedom of his country. The words of love and peace on the page offered solace and longing, but it couldn’t erase the images that were now forever imprinted on his soul. The image of the young man he once saw who stared back at him in his reflection with a vibrant sparkle in his eye has now changed to a different reflection of a somber man that he is now forced to come to know. The war had stolen his innocence, crushed his dreams, and left only the hollow, empty shell of a man who had seen too much. He no longer felt himself the hero he once dreamed he would be and no longer recognized the boy he once was. Could he ever find this young man in the mirror again? If he did, could he even look him in the eyes? He lives a different life now, one of violence and death. Would his family and friends even recognize this new man? Would they love him the way they used to? Where once William’s story used to be told of carefree days full of outside adventures and nights full of laughter with his friends, it now speaks of days full of desperation, struggle, and lifeless bodies of comrades he considered brothers.
William stood, his rifle ready in his hands, and saw in the distant ruble a sign of the approaching dawn. In that quiet moment before the beautiful chaos resumed that released all the painful memories from his mind, he tightened his grip on the ragged letter and felt a flicker of resilience and felt an ember of humanity he once held dear. The light brought no warmth but it did bring hope. Hope of another day, hope of one day returning home. William felt a tear escape from the corner of his eye. Not a tear of weakness, but a tear acknowledging what coming home would mean. He would return to a home that he remembered, but it will never be the same. He would never be the same. He may return home to a country full of freedom, a freedom that he fought for, but he himself will never be free. He will always be at war with his thoughts and memories, and will never know peace again. Home may never give William the chance to view that person he hopes to see once again looking back at him, no matter how hard he fights, but home has to be the hopefulness to fight for another day.
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