It was still a bit dark when I woke. The sun was starting to rise of over the city. I couldn’t sleep, which wasn’t any different from most nights. Sitting up, rubbing my face, I couldn’t focus. I know he’s fine. I know he’ll be back. He’s a strong solider, a brave solider, but I cannot stop worrying about him. Flipping on the lamp, I decided it was time to start my day. I grabbed one of his shirts put it on. Though he couldn’t be here, right now, this shirt would have to do.
Staggering into the living room and I flicked on another lamp. Its light cast an eerie glow over the sketches covering the walls. Turning on the TV and changing the channel till it reached the news. Satisfied with that, I began the rest of the other morning routine. Prepping the coffee, gathering the bread for making toast, I was only half listening to the news. But right now it didn’t matter. There was only happy feel good news. Thankfully the coffee was warming and the toast was nearly done, so I didn’t have to listen to this for long.
“And today in news on the War in Afghanistan,” the newscaster began. That peaked my interest real quick. I usually had to listen to these segments. Something always made me watch these segments as much as I hated them. So peeked my head from kitchen to get a look at the segment. “A convoy was hit by a well coordinated and vicious attack.” The image of the newscaster switched to a video of the aftermath. A burning Humvee, another one further down nearly in a ditch. Bullet holes pocketed the Humvees that were on the road. Upon closer inspection, pools of dried blood were on the road intermixed with various bullet shell casings. “It appears the attack was imitated by IEDs then attack with small arms fire. Then the convoy was hit by rocket and motar fire. As of now the situation has been contained, and there have been no groups stepping forward to claim responsibility for the attack. There are reports of numerous US causalities.” From there it cut to close up of a solider being loaded onto an APC.The solider with covered in blood, his uniform soaked with either his own or someone else’s. Medics frantically working all around him, and then it hit me. I ran to the remote and paused the TV. I got a closer look at that solider. No. Not just any solider, not just any wounded solider, that’s my solider. My Toby. My hands began to shake, my knees became weak, and I couldn’t stand anymore. Slowly bracing myself against the wall, I fell to floor. No… No… Nononononononono that can’t happen, not to my Toby. Tears rolling down my face, the paused image of Toby fixed on the screen, why this… why now.