Christmas Special (2)

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Dustin's POV.

I stare in desperation at the sorry excuse for the tree I tried to put up in my lonely looking living room. Walking over to the window and watching the sea of colourful christmas lights twinkling in glee around Manhattan. It bites that I couldn't even get a three foot, fake christmas tree to look nice but everyone else has their show-off lights hanging on their balconies.  My neighbors even have a blow up frosty the snowman.

It's weird, to be home for christmas. I get chills thinking of last christmas.  It was colourful alright. I was on tour in Afghanistan that christmas and there was a major fire fight. 

I remember it as if it was just yesterday: 

My team and I inside of base, we were just about to pull the ham out of the oven. It smelled heavenly around us,  the smell of a honey glazed pig basically plagued our thoughts until we couldn't take it any longer. Begging for it to be taken out of the oven as our mouths watered.The rest of food that surrounded us almost made it insufferable for us to even take a breath.

It felt good to see my team gathered around, smiling and laughing. The last few days were tough as the Taliban targeted us everywhere we went. Hopefully they left us alone today... I was wrong.

They came at us like dogs, IEDs and RPG explosions polluted the base. We were so unprepared to fight. Their forces littered the mountain side, ready to take our lives. I run to a defensive sniper position where I have clear shots of the hillside. We pushed back but there was still so much blood, so much death.

I continue to stare at the city lights as my hands start shaking  violently with the memories. Bile building up at the bottom  of my throat.  Anxiety bubbling up within me and I need to punch something. 

Stepping away from the glass windows I walk over to the counter top where I slam my fists into the granite slab, over and over again until the blood from my knuckles drips slowly down my arms and onto the floor. 

I look at the pictures of the smiling soldiers on my shelf and my faces contorts, I should've gone to therapy.

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