Returning Home. Part 1

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All Rights Reserved. 2016 Imastupidiyut.
I reserved all rights to this story and it's characters.
It is a work of fiction and all characters are purely from my imagination
and any names used are coincidental.
No one may copy or use any part of it  or it's series without the exclusive
permission of the author, which is me.
So don't steal any part of it or it's series. It is stealing and will be dealt with.
Thankyou, Lyn (ACH)

Not edited.

Teddy's POV...

Laying there in the mud as explosions and gunfire were happening around me was how I was going to die.

I have been here for nearly two years fighting in this war and serving my country. But this was where I was going to die I thought. Feeling nothing but agony as shards of pain ran up my legs to my spine  because of a bomb that had exploded close to me.

It was like I was dreaming as I lay on my back looking up at the stars that lit the night sky as I saw plumes of smoke wafting through the air over me. The occasional burst of another explosion to light up the night giving a glow that lit up the area I find myself laying it.

I could hear the dull sounds of screams.. of guns.. of bombs as m began to fade away into the silence. A silence I could feel dragging me down into the darkness that surrounded me.

I was trying so hard to forget what I saw. What I felt.

He must have only been about six years old with that bomb strapped to his back. Just a baby that was being used in a war no child should be fighting in. He was just a baby.

I couldn't understand how people could use their children like they were worth nothing to them. It was horrible. It was agonising. And to think that they, the parents were given encouragement from their allies to do that.

Some ally they were if they condoned you using your children to get close to the enemy, then allowing them to be blown up, just to kill the enemy soldiers. It was cruel and it was wrong.

I was so tired now as I lay there in the dirt and mud listening to everything getting quieter and quieter.

Then I was jerked. I could hear someone screaming at me as I was jerked again. Opening my eyes, I could see the fan over me twirling and twirling as I was then jerked again. Then I saw a face looking down at me yelling. But I couldn't hear what he was saying.

A moment later I saw another face looking down at me as I felt him pat my chest.

"Your going home, son. You're going home." Was all I could hear from the face above me and not too long after that, my eyes closed and I felt and heard nothing at all.

The fan above me was a Huey  that they carried me into and airlifted me up and out of the area to a M.A.S.H before finally being discharged to go home. In the space of four weeks, I was flown home where I was admitted to a hospital in Sydney where I would eventually be fitted with a new leg since that last bomb blew mine off.

Not that I wanted them to. I just wanted them to kill me. It was the only way that the nightmares would stop. But of course they wouldn't help me despite my own efforts to the contrary.

"Look son. You keep getting saved for a reason. You might not know what it is until it comes upon you. But you have to fight, so that when the time comes, that reason will appear to you. What you do after that, then you can decide what to do with your life. But until then. There is something keeping you with us. Go home boy. Go home and live." The preacher was telling me over and over again.

Damn preacher. Where was his god when we were over there fighting and killing each other. Both sides were praying to a god to help us win. It was stupid.

If god was real, we wouldn't all be fighting like we were.
If god were real, he would have helped me back there in Korea.
He would have helped that child, all of those children.
If god was real, we wouldn't suffer like we do.
If god was real, he would have let me die... but he didn't.

So until someone gives me proof that god is real and that he is interested in us, then those who preach about him to us can go to pot.

So there I was finally back at home on the farm near Bundarra up north west of Sydney trying to make sense of my life again. Only to find that I couldn't.

I couldn't remember when I turned to the bottle, but I did and it was the only thing that I found comfort in.

It was the only thing that would help me forget. Forget the war, forget my lost leg and forget the look on that scared little child's face just before he was shot in front of me causing the bomb strapped to him to explode.

Exploding which caused me injuries that will affect me far into the future. Not including the loss of my leg. Having the doctors tell me that I may never father children  was the worst any doctor can tell a man.

I can suffer losing a leg, but losing any chance of a future with children to carry on the family name was something entirely different.

Men have killed themselves over this kind of diagnosis. I know, I have tried to be one of them. But I was always saved for some damn reason.

I'm twenty six years old now and live for the bottle.

I do what I can with my parents farm. I manage to run it and there is some success with it. I just can't live with everyday facing those memories.

At least I couldn't until I was coming home one day after having a few drinks at the pub in Bundarra.

That's when I found her. My Janey.

My reason for living.

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