Hero of War

I didn’t recognize anything. Anything at all.
I’ve only been gone for three years but everything seemed to have changed.
Our old neighbors had moved away and now a young couple with two children lived there. A small gazebo had been built on the front lawn of the house across the street. Another family had painted their entire house.
But not only the environment here is different now. I am, too. Not only on the outside. I learned to block out all unwanted feelings. Pain. Desire. I can control it now. I needed to learn that. I wouldn’t have been able to make it if I hadn’t learned to control the pain I felt every time someone close to me died. And I’ve seen way too many people die throughout the last years. I nearly died.
Me and my companions needed to get to another unit. They had a wounded person in their camp but not the possibility to take care of him, so that’s why we had to do that. And that’s when we came under fire. Somehow the rebel troops had spotted us and took the chance to attack. It all happened so fast. I still can’t remember everything about it, despite having taken long therapy sessions to overcome the amnesia caused by the trauma that had been inflicted by this incident that not only left a scars on my body but also on my soul. The outward scars weren’t so bad, most of them would fade with the time. The only bad ones were probably the small one over my left eye and the large one running all across my chest and stomach, both caused by a knife one of the rebels used as a weapon once he got close enough to use it.
Someone opened the front-door then. It was my girlfriend. She opened it with so much force that it slammed into the wall and I wouldn’t be surprised it some of the wooden panel chipped from the impact. But then she stopped, frozen on the spot. She was crying, but smiling under the tears. It was happiness. But also shock. It was the first time she saw me with these scars. It took her a while to get over it. But then she hesitantly took my hand. Almost timidly. As if she was afraid of something. We both had changed. And honestly, even though I secretly hoped everything would stay the same I knew that this hope was a lost cause. Nothing ever stays the same. Things constantly change and develop.
She pulled me through the door, into the small hallway that was still so familiar to me. The photograph over there, on the chest of drawers was new, and so was the small sculpture on the coffee table she once inherited from her grandmother but the rest was still just like I had last seen it the day I left.
Suddenly I heard someone sobbing quietly. It wasn’t her though. It was my mother. She was standing next to my dad in the dining room, watching from distance how I took in everything as if it was the first time I saw it, to check for differences. She looked so happy. Happy to finally have her baby boy back. Because as much as she refused to admit it, that’s what I still was to her. Her little boy. And I would probably always be that. My father however looked more… proud. Even though I couldn’t, and still can’t, understand that. I had killed people for god’s sake. I wasn’t proud of it and my father shouldn’t be, either. But everyone seemed to be proud about that fact. I was even promised a medal because at the day of the attack I had saved a man’s life before almost losing my own one. But it had cost someone else’s life. And I still felt terrible about it. Every night before I went to sleep I still saw the other soldier’s face. It wasn’t even a man yet, just a boy who probably didn’t even know what he was fighting for. It haunted me. And I was never going to forget. But they didn’t see that. Everything they saw was the brave soldier coming home after defending his country. A hero of war.
But I wasn’t a hero. Not to myself. I still couldn’t stand seeing myself in the mirror. On that faithful day I had started doubting everything I once believed in. I couldn’t fight anymore. That’s why they send me home, with the promise of honor, money and a medal. As if that was ever going to fix what I experienced. Because it won’t.
The hero of war. Only that he’s no hero. And he’ll never be.