Appearances

by Chapter 13

Prologue

Appearances
By: Chapter: 13

When I was young, I wanted to be a superhero. I knew it was impossible, even back then, but the thought of being able to help people and be a hero was always so… so… well, I don't know how to explain it. I remember when I used to search for people to help and performed minute deeds for people then acted like I’d ‘saved the world’ each time.

I miss those days. It was so easy back then.

Time brought truth to my ignorant dream, but I still never let it go. I was always the kid who tried to ‘stick up’ for all those who couldn't do it themselves. I made a lot of friends that way, but, also, a lot of enemies. I wasn't the smartest kid, nor was I the dumbest. In modesty, it was slightly above average in Math and Science, but failed English, History and all of those other stupid classes. I didn't hate school, but I didn't like it either. Indifferent, to put lightly.

The next part of my story is what you expect for a kid with my dream: I joined the Marines. My parents were against the idea (my mom more so than my father), but my grandfather always backed me up, being a Vietnam Vet himself. “Teaches you discipline and values that’ll help you through life,” he’d always say. It was true, I did learn a lot, but… I also lost a lot. They say they prepare you in boot camp; that they’ll get you ready for anything war can put you through.

They lied.

I was a Marine. Or, I became a Marine. I wanted to be the best, so I joined the best. During training: they broke me down, then built me back up in some of the worst years of my life. I wanted to quit. So many times I wanted to quit. But that would be taking the easy way out. A hero never quits. When it was all over, and I was sent on my first deployment, I thought that the worst was over—that serving would be the easy part. Fight for your country; defend the weak!

I was wrong.

I still have nightmares about my first deployment. Flashbacks, waking up in the middle of the night in cold sweats and echoes of my sins still haunt me day and night. "Old ghosts," as they say, "never go away." You don't realize how much you lose when you enlist. You lose your veil of ignorance which protects you from the daily horrors that we never notice. I can't drive in fear of hitting an IED. I flash into a panic every time I hear thunder or lighting. Storms are the worst for me, but even mundane things like a car backfiring bring me back to those five years. It does get better, that much is true, but never goes away. Like a scar. Yes, they heal, but they're always begging to be torn back open.

I have fought the devil and won... but he always came back, and I was sent to fight him all over again.

The cycle never stopped.

For five years, I fought as a Marine, and I would’ve fought longer if I hadn't been medically discharged. To be honest, I was hoping that I’d die in combat and join my fallen brothers. This never happened, as fate held other plans. I was struck by shrapnel from an IED while on routine patrol. My buddy had been on patrol with me when it happened—Zack, was his name—but he wasn't as lucky as me. The metal shards severed his brain stem and killed him instantly. Me… I got metal shards, nails, and glass embedded in my back, my body armor useless as I stopped almost nothing. I was lucky to have survive, doctors said, as it was a miracle that I didn't bleed out.

I honestly didn't share their enthusiasm. Still don't.

That day, in that moment, I lost what I had dedicated my entire life to and, more importantly, I had lost a friend. I’d lost people before, some even more violently and personal than Zack, but he affected me differently. According to the report: he had shielded me from the majority of the blast. I’ll never know if he did it on purpose or it was just a coincidence, but I never got over the feeling that he died protecting me. He died for me. Wasn't I the one fighting so others didn't have to die? As a marine, you don't fight for yourself—you fight by the brother by your side, as he is the one fighting for you. It made us strong. It made us tough. It was what made is marines—no training can compete with that. I guess that was the day he fulfilled his number one duty: fighting for his brother. I guess I wasn't fighting as hard. It is a strong, resilient guilt, one that has haunted me since discharge. I still have his face burned into my memory… before and after the blast.

Life after recovery and return to society has been almost just as difficult as combat. More so, in some ways. People think that you can just come back, flip a switch, then go from a Marine to a normal ‘citizen’ again. In truth, the saying doesn't lie: “Once a marine, always a marine.” I tried to return, I really did, but it just didn't work out. I currently live in a decent apartment in the ‘lovely’ city of Boston—my hometown. It was nothing special, mind you, as I bought with my pay I had saved up during service. I like the area, as it allows for privacy and the people who are around are nice, don't get me wrong, but I don't exactly get along with people. Trust is a hard thing for me to give so, as you can imagine, my dating life has been… nonexistent. I live alone and I work alone doing security for a local nightclub.

But, I think I've talked about myself enough. This story, believe it or not, isn't about me. No, this story is about the last thing you would expect: a pony, and how she changed my life.

Comments

[Time Consumer]

Follow. It's a well written story so far.