//------------------------------// // Ghosts never die // Story: The Walking Wounded // by Another Army Brony //------------------------------// That day started out the same as most since my release. Wake up, drink coffee, eat whatever is within reach, and wait. Checking the calendar that had shown up on my wall at some point, I noted that today was Saturday, and that I despised this calendar and every one of the sickeningly adorable kittens it contained. From the front of the house, there came the sound of a door opening, followed by dainty steps and an endearingly too-chipper voice. "Good morning, Tim." Grace all but sang the greeting, earning a grumble from me as she made her way to the dining room. She could tell I was smiling even before she rounded the corner, and she met my grin with one of her own. While her smile could light up a room, it was her eyes that never failed to capture my attention, arresting me as the golden orbs sparked a twinge of fear in me. It had been two weeks since that first spark, and without fail, I felt that same twinge whenever our eyes met. I couldn't place it, didn't understand it, and was frustrated by it. Seeing the cloud passing across my expression, Grace momentarily looked concerned. "Tim? Are you feeling well?" "Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine, just distracted is all." I punctuated my answer with a shrug for good measure. Apparently satisfied, Grace was once again nothing but smiles as she poked and prodded me to the door, eager to get the day started. Everything was almost normal, or at least what I would consider normal. We stepped out into the late morning sunlight, striking up an idle conversation as we made our way to the market. A month ago, it was rare for me to say more than ten words in a day. And here I was, chatting up a pretty mare as if it was natural. That thought stuck into my consciousness like a thorn the second it was formed. Pretty? When did I start to think Grace was pretty? I was unable to find an answer that satisfied me, but I couldn't deny that she was. You know, once you got used to the incessant chatter and entirely too-perky disposition, that is. At any rate, the last two weeks had been... nice. I had a friend now, one who helped keep the terror away and helped me feel... not crazy. It was a good feeling. That day, despite its innocent beginnings, was about to become one of the worst I'd had since my return. It all started outside of the massage parlor, after Grace had finally concluded that I could not, in fact, be persuaded to indulge in any sort of spa treatment. It had taken ten minutes of stalwart refusal on my part, but my unwavering refusal finally sunk in as she went inside alone, leaving me a promise that she would meet me out front of the spa in half an hour. Having absolutely nothing better to do and not wanting to interact with anypony else, I sat down outside the spa to wait for her. Fetlock may technically have been part of Manehattan, but it was a world away from the hustle and bustle of the city proper. For many long minutes, I simply sat in the shade and watched life go on around me. Sky carriages passed overhead, destined for the central hub in the heart of the city. At the sound of a carriage passing, its wooden wheels rattling loudly across the cobblestone street caused my heart rate to pick up. I found myself suddenly missing Grace and her soothing touch. There arose suddenly a clamor from down the street, culminating in a series of loud pops. My pulse skyrocketed as my blood ran cold, deeply buried memories fighting their way to the surface. Turning, I saw conflicting images. There had been a cart wreck at the intersection down the street, and the loud pops had been the snapping of spokes. The dusty wind swirled about me, and the cart wreck was replaced by a scene from my nightmares. The cart had refused to stop at the checkpoint I was manning, even after I'd yelled and raised my weapon. Still they came, refusing to slow, so I fired at the stallion driving. I fired as quickly as I could while aiming, and I kept pulling the trigger until the cart came to a screeching halt. The driver was slumped at the reigns, a pool of blood spreading out from his still form. From down the street there came the perfect echo of the past, in all of its terrible glory. From the cart, there rose the sound of a foal crying. No. No no no no. I have to leave, have to leave right now, before... No! Before I knew it, I was on my hooves and careening through the crowd, brushing them aside and drawing a number of angry shouts in my wake. I just needed to get away, needed to outrun the ghosts of the past. A hoof grabbed me roughly by the shoulder and spun me around. An instant before I lashed out at my attacker, I was struck by a pair of golden eyes, my blow stayed by the sight. Those glorious eyes were brimming with tears of fear and concern, a sight that stirred a familiar protective urge along with the spark of fear. My body shook, my heart was racing, and I was sucking in air like it was going out of style. I stumbled into an alley and leaned against the wall before sinking into a sitting position. Staring at the ground and taking deep, steady breaths, I managed to bring my heart rate down to something less than a breakneck pace. A pale hoof found its way to my shoulder, gently stroking and offering comfort. It was several long minutes of silence before I looked up from the floor of the alley, finding a familiar set of eyes looking at me with deep concern. "Tim? Are you okay? What happened back there?" Her voice was as soft as her touch, and her concern was genuine. She was not asking me this as Nurse Candlelight, but as my friend Grace. I took a deep, shuddering breath before responding. "I... I was having a flashback. Or, starting to have one. I tried to get away before it got bad... that was the worst." "A flashback? What was the worst?" "That memory... it's the worst one." My voice was low, my words were methodical. Far off, somepony started screaming. I shook my head, clearing my head before retuning my gaze to Grace's. Her concerned stare hadn't faded, but it now bore elements of compassion. "Would it help if you talked about it?" I shook my head dismissively. "No, I wouldn't want to burden anypony else with it. It... it's terrible." Grace just squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. "I'm stronger than I look. I'm willing to take some of the burden, if you're willing to let a friend help you." Internally, I was conflicted. I wanted to get it off of my chest, to have one less thing eating me alive in the darkest hours of the night. At the same time, there was a reason I'd kept it to myself... this was no happy story, there was no faerie tale ending. After a moment of struggle, I came to a radical conclusion; I would trust Grace. If she thought she could handle it, I would share my burden of guilt. "Okay Grace. I'll talk about it. I feel... I feel like maybe talking about it will help. Just be ready for it, it isn't a happy memory." Her mouth was a thin line of grim determination, her entire demeanor lying somewhere between reverence and trepidation. She simply nodded to me, tracking a seat in the alley directly in front of me. I took another deep breath to steel myself, beginning the story. "So there I was..." ------ Saddle Arabia, three years prior I was sleeping up against the earthen wall that surrounded our compound, one of the few places you could find shade at high noon. While there were sandbag bunkers made specifically to be used as sleep areas, the lack of any airflow at all made them feel more like an oven than anything else, and it was usually cooler outside. Sleeping as well as one possibly could while wearing full combat load in the middle of the desert, I was awoken abruptly by somepony kicking my foot. Without bothering to crack an eye to investigate, I grumbled at whoever had kicked me. "Twitch, so help me Luna, if you came over here to complain about how hot it is again, I will personally cram your ass into the one-five-five and send you to the moon." A gruff voice, most certainly not belonging to Twitch, answered. "Oh yeah? You can try, if you're feeling froggy." My eyes snapped open as I hopped to parade rest, catching sight of the gleam in Sarge's eye. "My bad, Sarge. Thought you were Twitch." He chuckled a bit as he told me to relax. "No shit. You've got ECP guard in ten mikes. Get moving." Snagging my helmet from where I'd been using it as a pillow, I took off at a fast walk while fastening the chin strap. Of all the things I had to do on FOB Maple Leaf, entry control point guard was my least favorite, with the exception of shit detail. Burning turds was worse than being stuck in a smelly shack for four hours, but only just. I made it with only a few minutes to spare, relieving the current guard and taking my place in the hot box. The duty was neither complex nor labor intensive, but it carried a much more sinister threat. The gate was a common target for carriages laden with explosives as the enemy tried to breach the perimeter. There was nothing but one guard, a machine gun, and a hundred meters of open space between the actual gate and any would-be CBIEDs. Carriage borne improvised explosive devices, CBIEDs (pronounced see-bids) were a rare but exceptionally powerful weapon that the enemy used from time to time. The amount of explosives they could pack into one of those things was more than enough to make my head spin, and I'd seen for myself what one could do. I was in a convoy that was hit by a small one, and even that had knocked out three of our vehicles and left a two meter deep crater in the street. And here I was, sitting in a plywood and sandbag shack that might as well have a bulls-eye on it. Starting to see why I hated it so much? I'd made it through the first hour of my shift without incident, and I even had the luxury of a friendly pet scorpion to entertain me. I'm joking, he was a spiteful little bastard, but he was entertaining anyways. A dust trail coming from the road let me know that I had company inbound. I checked the schedule to see if we were expecting any deliveries and found none, though this didn't mean much. Those things were never right, and couldn't predict the way the locals would sometimes come up to the gate to sell food or bootleg movies. The carriage barreling towards me wasn't one of the local's, and it was going much faster than the posted speed limit. My pulse began to race as I took my place behind the ma deuce and gave the sign for stop. The carriage didn't slow at all. I fired a warning shot into the dirt just in front of it, but again to no effect. The first whiff of cordite stung my nostrils as my heart beat against my breast. The acrid smell was the catalyst, the last bit of the puzzle that flipped a switch in my head. As the adrenaline poured into my blood, time slowed to a crawl. I aligned my sights and fired five rounds into the driver with a practiced, almost mechanical precision. I'd scored several hits, but he was still careening towards the gate. I needed to stop this thing before it got any closer to my family, my brothers in arms. I began to fire in bursts, stopping slowing my fire only long enough to make sure I was on target before reengaging. In my hooves, the weapon roared and kicked, spewing death. The cart suddenly swerved into the center divider, coming to a screeching halt only fifty meters away from me in a plume of dust. Even from that distance, I could see the blood beginning to spread. My rifle still drawn, I ignored the procedures and advanced on the vehicle. I was perhaps ten meters away when I first heard it. From somewhere in the vehicle, a foal's cry rang out, full of pain and fear. The driver was undeniably dead, so I moved around to the side to check the passenger cabin. Looking in through a window that had been shattered by one of my rounds, I saw something I'll never forget. Buckets and buckets of homemade explosives were stacked there, all wired together with a large battery. Chained down on top of the buckets was a colt, not even old enough to have a mark, and a mare wearing a traditional veil. The colt was missing a chunk of his leg where one of my rounds had struck, and the mare had several ragged holes in her torso that leaked bright red blood. I took all of this in within a fraction of a second as my adrenaline kicked in and time slowed down. The mare coughed up blood, sending a spray out of her mouth and several of the holes in her chest. She leaned forward against her chains, reaching for a little black box resting against one of the buckets. The box had one button and a wire leading from it, and it didn't take a genius to divine its purpose. --------- "And then the colt cried out to me. He reached out to me, begging me to help him. But I didn't. I turned and ran for all I was worth. I jumped over the barrier and hit the dirt, crawling away. I don't remember the blast, I only remember hitting the ground and skipping like a rock. The father had been blackmailed into attacking our position, and he decided to take his wife and son with him. Earlier, in front of the spa, it all came back. The popping, the crash, and the cries... it all fit. It took my back to that instant." Grace had been sitting in silence as I relived the traumatic memory, her shock and sadness becoming more prominent as the story wound on. As I finished, she sort of nodded before asking the question I had asked myself a million times since then. "Is there anything you could have done differently?" I merely shook my head, letting my gaze fall to the litter strewn alley. "Some days, I think that if I had to do it all again, I would have held his hoof. He wouldn't have gone alone." Grace almost jumped at me as I spoke, a fierce look in her eyes as she stared into mine, looking through me. "Don't say that. If you did that, I never would have met you, and we never would have made each other smile like we do. I... I like you, and it hurts me when you talk about killing yourself or wishing you were dead." "I don't really feel that way anymore, not for a while at least. You're my only friend, Grace." I sighed. "Before you, I had nothing. My family wants nothing to do with me, and I don't play nicely with others. Honestly, you're the best thing in my life right now." The weight of my words was becoming apparent as I spoke, but I had to continue. Seeing the hope in her eyes just made me feel terrible, reminding me of why I hated that stupid feeling. I could never let myself get close to anypony, not after all I'd been through. I'd been hurt too many times, had built up too many walls to let anypony in anymore. If I was to let myself get close to somepony and lost another I cared about, that'd be the end of me. "Grace, you're my best friend, and I wouldn't let anything come between what we have." She initially looked a little confused and a bit hurt, but she very quickly hid these feelings under a smile. She leaned in for a hug, but I recoiled from it. "Uh, yeah. I don't do the whole touchy-feely thing, Grace. Nothing against you, it's just not something I'm comfortable with." The hurt and confusion returned, and this time they stayed. In an effort to find some sort of physical contact that I was comfortable with, she held out her hoof for a hoofbump. I tapped hers with mine, drawing a large smile from the light orange mare. Her perkiness restored to its former glory, she suggested that we go get lunch together, something that my stomach readily agreed to. I stood up, turning to offer her a helping hoof. She smiled wider, pulling herself up to her hooves and dusting herself off. ------------ Later that night, long after Grace and I had parted ways, I was sitting in my dining room with a bottle of Applejack Daniel's and a lot on my mind. I was starting to like Grace, and that was bad. I didn't want to like Grace, because I was afraid of growing close to her and then losing her. On the flip side of the coin, I almost felt like I needed her. Since she'd come into my life, I couldn't deny that I'd been happier than ever before, finally able to feel normal again. I hated myself a bit for this. What the fuck was wrong with me that I needed somepony else just to get through the day? Why couldn't I just stallion the fuck up and move on? In the back of my mind, I heard the traitorous voice of hope whispering to me. It's been so long since I've felt this happy. Maybe this is my chance to finally come home. I've got a cute mare who cares about me, who helps drive away the demons in the night. Maybe we could settle down, get married, have a family together. We could be happy. Happy? Happy doesn't apply to me, not after what I've seen and done. I don't deserve a family, don't deserve love. Grace is nice, too nice for me. I'm nothing but a ball of nightmares and violence, I could never deserve her. She doesn't deserve somepony like me, she deserves so much better. But I like her, and I'm pretty sure she likes me too. She seems willing to take me as I am, flaws and all. Luna knows how much I treasure the peace she brings me, and she's always smiling when she's around me. Why can't I just be happy? Because I am damned for my sins. Happiness is not mine to have. The thought of caring about her, that she might matter to me... it scares me. I can't lose anypony else, I can't. I have almost nothing left, and if I were to lose her too, then I'd lose myself as well. I'm scared for myself, and I'm scared for her. She has no idea how deep this box of crazy goes. Not like it matters anyways, because I can't trust her, not in the way I should. I will always have doubts, and that's not fair to her or me. And I won't even try? What the hell kind of excuse is that? I might be a box of crazy, but she cares, dammit. I want to like her, I want to be reminded how it feels to love, to be loved. I might be damned, but she could be the redemption I've sought. I need to try. No. I won't drag her down with me, that's final. I need to drive her away from me before I can hurt her. I need her to hate me, to see what's best for her. I hate myself for having to do this, but it has to be this way. I'm a monster. --------