It was supposed to be easy. He was short; he had one week left.
One week left and yet he didn’t even make it to that.
“Lucas, I’m so sorry.” I tell him, grasping onto his hand. I’m not crying though. It seems like in war your tear ducts are taken away the moment you put on a uniform.
“Beat them.” Lucas tells me as he starts to fade away.
I take out my gun and shoot at the first Vietnamese I see. It’s all I can do to keep from burning down the village.
“Sir?”
Stephen heard the voice and snapped out of his trance-like flashback. “Yes?”
“Your total is $19.23.”
“Oh…sorry.” Stephen muttered and through down a twenty. “Keep the change.”
“What kind of snake do you have?”
“Um, I forget. I just bought him.” Stephen lied. The truth was mice were the only things that could keep him sane at that point.
“Yo, Stephen. Try some.” Alex insists to me. He’s holding out his gun which he had stuffed with a lovely supply of weed.
“I don’t know.” I mutter. I feel like it would be disrespectful so after his death to start smoking away the memory.
“You need to forget.” Alex tells me.
“I doubt I will.”
“Who gives a f*** about this war anyway? We are a gonna loose. We’re screwed. Why not enjoy the last few months? After all, when do you leave, Stephen?”
“Two months.”
“Well then, here’s to you!” Jake lifts his bong and the rest of the boys toast.
“To Stephen; almost out of hell.”
The rest of the soldiers grin and mockingly click.
“Almost out of hell!”
“Come here, little guys.” Stephen cooed as he got behind the pet store. He looked around to make sure that no one was watching as he grabbed a hold of the mouse’s throat.
“Oh, are you afraid little guy? Well guess who else was afraid. I WAS! I WAS AFRAID!” Stephen cried out and reached his fingers around the next one.
“You’re not so scary when you ain’t in your black pajama’s, are you?” Stephen laughed. “Nope; you’re just a bunch of little cowards like I used to be.”
When all the mice were dead, Stephen dropped them down a sewer. He then went home like nothing had happened. And, with how often he did this, it was almost like it never had happened.


“Hey Dad.”
“What?” Stephen snapped. He had a right to be angry. His son knew he hated the telephone because the noise freaked him out. He would have gotten rid of it altogether if he wasn’t afraid to have it for emergencies.
“I’m sorry, I know you don’t like the telephone…”
“Yeah, so this better be important.”
“It is. I really want to know if you are thinking about coming to the party.”
“Why do you care about this so much?”
“Because I’m afraid of what you are doing when you are locked up in your room all day!”
“I’m a grown man, in case you’ve forgotten, son.”
“Maybe I will leave you alone if you come.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Of course.”
“When is it?”
“Dad…it is a Fourth of July party.”
Of course. The Fourth of July. The day where Americans celebrated their freedom and celebrate their troops but, of course, he didn’t get anything when he came back from Vietnam. A couple spits in the face and a couple names being called and that somehow was considered American.
“I will be there.” Stephen slammed down the phone.

Stephen had not looked at the notes from Linda in nearly ten years. He had stopped because every time he did so, the nightmares would happen every night.
But what was the harm in looking at them now? He already was having them every night.

August 27th, 1967

Dearest Stephen,

The war has begun to seem like a bad idea here in America. There is protesting left in right. As you know, it started about three years ago, but things are starting to get out of hand. Protestors are yelling things at the president, asking how many kids he’s killed and calling him a baby killer. Jacob (remember, my younger brother?) just came back a month ago and when he came back wearing his uniform, he was spit on at the airport. Things are not safe here and I’m worried for your safety.
Please, Stephen. Come home as soon as possible so we can get married and pretend this never happened.

Your Fiancé,
Linda


November 1st, 1967

Dearest Stephen,

I miss you so much. It’s not the same waking up to an empty spot on the bed next to me. It’s a mess here. I’m sure it’s hard for you there, but protestors are starting to become violent. I’m not ashamed to say that you are fighting, but some people have looked down on my because of what you are doing. Please, Stephen. Be careful. I love you and I don’ t want you to get hurt.

Your Fiancé,
Linda


December 24th, 1967

Dearest Stephen,

Merry Christmas, honey. I am so sorry it’s been so hard to write you lately. I just don’t know what to say to you. I’ve heard a lot about the awful things you and the troops are doing in Vietnam and it’s hard to talk to you. It’s almost as though you have completely changed as a person. But, I have been getting every letter you’ve written me and I appreciate them all. It’s nice to know you haven’t changed that most.
Please Stephen, would you stop hurting those children? How hard can it be; just put down the gun and refuse to fight. They won’t hurt you; it’s because you’re fighting that they are fighting back. You can do it; I know who you really are and I still love that man.

Stay Strong, Linda


February 3rd, 1968

Stephen,
This letter is an official statement to show that I am breaking off the engagement. I am sorry but I cannot handle the monster you have become. I will still always love you but I can’t marry someone like you.

Linda


The Monster I’ve become. The monster I’ve become.
“She has not f***ing idea what a real monster is!” He screamed into the air as he burst into tears. He covered his face with the letters and cried out what he could never say out loud.
Soldiers didn’t cry. But, according to America, he wasn’t a soldier. He was a joke.

“Dad, wake up.”
Stephen woke up to see Michael staring down at him. Stephen jumped at first. He had just been dreaming of….of Lucas. When he realized it was Michael, he relaxed, but only a little bit. He had not been fully relaxed in years.
“What do you want?”
“You to wake up, for one thing. My God; its noon. Time to wake up.” Michael snapped.
“I’m sorry; when did my son become my mother?” Stephen answered.
“The moment your wife stopped being one.” Michael froze the second the words were out of his mouth, almost as surprised as Stephen that he had sunk that low.
“Get out of my house.”
“Not until you shower.” Michael said.
“Why do you care?” Stephen laughed.
“Normally, I could care less if you were showered. But I arranged for you to have therapy in an hour.”
Stephen was shocked. “Who gave you the right to do that?”
“No one, but I’m sick of seeing you sit around the house all day. You can’t just stop living because you lose someone!”
“You don’t know even half of the pain I’ve gone through. Don’t pretend you understand.”
“Fine, but I still am having you go to therapy. So suck it up.” He tossed a towel on Stephen. “Shower. Now.”
Stephen did like showering. In Nam, they didn’t get to shower on the field, and it was usually so hot and dusty that even when they could shower, they were usually dirty about twenty minutes later.
When he got home from Nam, almost everything seemed special. Now he just realized that war was hell and nothing was really special.
After he was dressed and showered, Michael drove him downtown to the hospital.
“I thought you said I was seeing a therapist. Is this some sort of trick?”
“You are seeing a therapist; the office is down here.” Michael sighed as they both made their way into the office.
Stephen walked into the building, surveying the room in fear. He hated new places. It always gave him a horrible feeling that somewhere in there, there was a Nam punk about to take him out. New places reminded him too much of the unfamiliar Vietnam jungle.
All those people could be enemies. All people are enemies.
Stephen sat there with his hands folded in his lap for twenty minutes. Waiting. He always hated going to the doctor’s, even before he went to Nam. The unfamiliar feeling, the doctor feeling around you, the irrational fear that he was going to end up having cancer or some sort of terminal illness was always there.
Stephen had gone several times to the doctor after Vietnam, mostly to check and see how serious his injuries were. Those were always a nightmare. The doctor’s would ask how he got his injuries and when he told them, they would get a funny look on their face and say “Oh.” Like it was a bad thing. Like it was something he should be ashamed of. Like defending your country is wrong.
“Stephen?” A woman came out, red hair and smiling. She had never known pain. “The doctor can see you now!”
“Good luck Dad!” Michael chirped brightly as he pulled out a magazine. Stephen just glared at him.
The nurse led Stephen down the hallway and Stephen could feel the images in his head coming back slowly and coldly.

I don’t want to fight anymore.
I don’t want to have to relive the image of Him dying as I sit in bed at night, thinking of how the love of my life is on the verge of leaving me, and how He died.
He wasn’t much but he was my best friend.
My family took him in when his parents died, when he was fifteen, and we had been best friends and like brothers long before that. When we came to Vietnam together, we worked hard to make sure we could find our way into the same camp. Because that’s what brothers do.
He shouldn’t have died.
I stabbed the throat of the blood-sucking Communist that killed him. I stabbed his throat and beheaded him because I saw him kill my brother and best friend and cold blood. If I could, I would have stabbed him all over again so I can watch that leach get what he deserved.
But, no matter what I do, He’s not coming back. He’s gone.
And I have to live with it. I have to live that I did nothing to stop it and I can do nothing to stop it.
It should have been me.

“So, what brings you here, Stephen?” Dr. Samson asked Stephen, leaning back in his chair in that oh-so-stereotypical way therapists do.
“Did you not read the sheet I had to fill out?”
“Well I did-‘’
“It took me about twenty minutes to fill out, so I sure hope you did.” Stephen snapped. He was not in the mood to deal with this man. There was no possible way that he could just take his brain and squish out all the memories of death, injury, fear, and drugs. Those are things you don’t forget.
“Is there something troubling you, Stephen?” Dr. Samson asked with a fake concerning smile on his face. Stephen hated it. He hated him. He looked like he could be Michael’s age and he was not about to get therapy from a child.
“Wow, I can see how you got your degree! When did you get it, like, five minutes ago?” Stephen’s tone even surprised him that time. He didn’t mean for it to come out so hostile.
“I see you were in the war.”
“Were you even alive for that?” Stephen asked. Dr. Samson gave a sheepish grin.
“I had just taken my first steps, honestly.” Dr. Samson smiled.
“Oh…you look really good then.” Stephen said surprised.
“Thank you. You look good too, considering you were in Vietnam.” Dr. Samson said sympathetically. “I suspect there’s a lot more inside, however.”
Stephen fidgeted a little bit. This wasn’t ago. Dr. Samson was getting to close. “Could we talk about something else?”
“I think it’s important we hit on this, because this seems to be what your son is most concerned about.”
“What do you want to talk about, Doc?” Stephen shrugged. “I have nothing on my mind currently.” He lied through his teeth.
Nothing on the mind except for how I run into the cities with tears streaming down my face and blood streaming down my head. I don’t remember when I got the cut, but it isn’t bad enough to be send down, and who cares if I was sent home? I have nothing at home. Nothing but my beautiful Lidia. But with her last letter, I’m doubtful I will have her for long, if for much longer at all. I miss her everyday but she doesn’t seem to care at this point if I live or die.
This was has lost my best friend, the love of my life…I have nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Nothing but the power of fire in my fingers and the ability to blow up the Communists.
Call me a monster and I will BE THAT MONSTER!
“I have to go.” Stephen murmured and stood up.
“Where?”
“I have another appointment?”
“Where?”
“WITH YOUR MOTHER JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” Stephen shut the door and then opened the door again. “And I am not coming back!” Stephen screamed and slammed the door shut.
“How did it go-“
“Don’t ever take me back to that godforsaken place ever again!” Stephen hissed as he ran past Michael. “It’s just a bunch of people trying to fix problem that aren’t there.”


When Stephen got home, he screamed and punched his couch.
These nightmares…these thoughts…when was anyone going to understand that no one could help him? The only person that could help him when he got like this was Rachel.
She was there when he got home from Vietnam. She met him when he finally managed to get back to college. There are a lot of things wrong with Johnson, but how he managed to get the war veterans back to college was something that always seemed to help.
That’s where he met. Met beautiful, wonderful, Rachel Evans when they were both majoring in Literature. She to become an English teacher, him to finally fulfill his dream of becoming a writer.
She became his rock, his support when something was needed. She was sometimes the only one who would listen when he rambled on about President Johnson (Idiot) and made sure that when they went out to eat, they would never go somewhere that had rice. She was amazing.
Everyone else treated him like he was the scum of the earth. Sure, he had not exactly expected to be called a “hero” but often times when he was fighting, the only thing he could hang onto was his family and the thought of returning home.
Even his family was disgusted with him. His mother made sure he could never talk about it and avoided mentioning anything having to do with Vietnam. His little brother was upset that Logan had died and blamed Stephen for not doing anything to fix it. Stephen knew how he felt.
Rachel listened to his problems and made the world seem more bearable. It was the happiest day of his life when he finally married her.
And some doctor ruined that. Some doctor ruined everything that he had. And now he was left to his own to try to figure out himself all alone.
This wasn’t fair. Not in the slightest bit. He was left alone to face himself and he hated himself. He hated that he let Logan die and he hated that he couldn’t get rid of these memories.
“Meow!” A small sound scratched at Stephen’s back door. Stephen barley glanced up as he walked to the back door.
Such a small and innocent little kitty. Little green eyes, couldn’t be more than a few weeks old, pawing for food.
“Hey, kitty-kitty.” Stephen purred and reached out for the cat. “Do you want some food?”
The kitty “meowed” again and rushed into the house. Stephen picked her up and slowly started petting her, a rush of adrenalin going through his body.
“Good kitty.” He whispered and then carried her to the kitchen. “Good little kitty.”
Small. Innocent. A lot like the babies he had been accused of killing in Vietnam. He never killed any child, however. He saw a few bombings that killed children, but this was different.
This was itching inside of him.
“I’m doing you a favor kitty. Get out of this world. Get back into happiness. You like happiness, right kitty?” The cat purred. “Of course you do. Come here.”
Stephen lifted up the cat, and before she could even begin to fight, he stuffed the cat in his oven. The cat meowed and howled through the class, scratching at the door, pleading for help.”
“Lucas cried for help, you stupid little Charlie, Lucas cried for help!” Stephen snapped as he switched on the oven. “Don’t cry; crying is for wimps. WE ARE IN WAR!”

“What’s that smell, Dad?” Michael asked Stephen the minute he entered the house. “God, what did you burn?” Michael groaned.
“I burnt some chicken I was gonna have for lunch but I fell asleep. Sorry if the smell bugs you but you can always just leave.” Stephen pointed out.
“Nice try, Dad. Actually, I came over simply to remind you that the barbecue is this Tuesday. Three days. Are you in?”
“I said I was going to be there; didn’t I?” Stephen snapped and turned away. “Constantly nagging me…this may be the last event you see me at for a long time, got it Michael?”
Michael shrugged and made his way out of the door. He had not even bothered to bring Yoda anymore and Stephen couldn’t tell if this made him angry anymore but who cared? Nothing made him particularly happy anymore. Not with the memories…not with the memories.

Twiggy hands me his gun with the weed burning inside. I take it without any kind of hesitation. Nothing matters anymore. This is clear.
G.I. Morton heads over and, by pure habit and not much else, Twiggy starts to hide the weed. G.I. Morton just shrugs and waves him off. He doesn’t care either. He doesn’t even remotely want to be here. He just got a letter, realizing his wife was pregnant. Like the rest of us, he just wants to get home. He doesn’t want to be the last idiot fighting for this lost cause.
Twiggy claps me on the shoulder. “Its okay; man.” He tells me coolly and holds up the peace sign he had carved onto a rock and put around his neck. Ironically, a lot of the soldiers have that around their necks, and I heard a rumor that Johnny-Boy has made twenty bucks selling those.
Morton looks like he wants to say something with Twiggy holds up the peace sign, but he sees Roderick pick up his knife slowly and he walks away. I smile. Morton is terrified of us because of what happened to the last guy and we all know it.
The guys official death? M.I.A. Dummies. Everybody knows that isn’t what happened. But do they have any proof? Of course not. I think only about two people know what really happened to that poor SOB. I don’t even know; although you better believe I pretend so I can get whatever I want.
“Know what I hate most about this?” Andrew laughs at me, looking like the weed has taken him to a whole other world Lucky guy.
“What, man?”
“We know they is gonna attack. We know. We all know this. Its gonna happen. But we can’t do s*** about it because we don’t know when. That’s the worst part. The waiting. The stupid waiting.” Andrew sighs and slips his shirt off. It’s so hot here you nearly drown with sweat even if your shirt is off. It’s disgusting.
We all smell like sweaty, teenage boys because that is mostly what we are.
I look up and see the sun start to go down. The blood in me goes cold. Night time is when everything happens. That’s when all the attacks take place.
“Oh hell.” Twiggy mutters. We both sit in silent fear and watch as the sun goes down.
“Who has duty tonight?”
My stomach is churning as me and a couple other guys stand up. This is not fair. This is not even remotely fair. I just watch my best friend get murdered and I got to fight during the worst time of the day?
I head over to my position, keeping me gun handy.
“You got this, man?” Mark asks me, holding on tightly to his own gun, stroking it like it was some sort of newborn child.
“Can’t wait.” I lie. Mark gives me a knowing smile.
“My life wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was gonna go to college but my old man…my old man says that you ain’t a real man until you put on the green.”
“He was in the War?”
“Yup. Kicked abuncha Nazi a**. Do ya think he proud me now though? Nope. My old man hates me. Says this is a dumb war and my mother is worried sick. Actin’ like it my fault. It ain’t…right?” It seems more like Mark is asking himself more than me.
“We can make him proud, Mark. I promise you.” I lie. No need to tell Mark that this is probably the most pointless war ever. No need to tell him that I doubt he will ever see his father again anyway, let alone see him and make him proud.
I look up at the sky. Frightening. I feel like a child who is afraid of the dark. And I am; here you get killed in the dark. The dark is those Charlie’s favorite because they like the element of surprise.
“What’s that noise?” Mark gasps, his voice cracking a little bit as he does.
“You’re crazy.” I tell him, but raise my gun a bit, ready. All ready. This needs to happen.
“There it is again!” Mark cries and this time I hear it. I raise my gun and start shooting.
Thousands of bullets just continue to shoot, blasting out on cue; I’m not even aiming at anything.
“What the f*** are you shooting at?” Mark calls out.
“I don’t know! Just shoot!” I yell and shoot, shoot randomly and shoot as many as you can. I feel a pain in my leg, but I continue anyway. Why not? It’s not like I will be able to go home at this point anyway.

“Take that!” Stephen yells, and then looks up to see what he was shooting at. He lowers his pistol. “Oh God.” Stephen throws his gun on the ground.
Stephen realizes he had just shot what he thought was a Charlie, but was really his TV. He had sunken so far into his vision, he had actually managed to shoot something.

“Hello?”
“Who is this?” Stephen murmured, nonchalantly. He was beyond exhausted. He had just managed to throw away the broken TV without anyone noticing, and buy and install a new one and, with his horrible memories, he just wanted to go to sleep.
“Trevor. Trevor Wiggins.”
Realization fell onto Stephen. “Twiggy?”
“You remember me?”
“I can’t really forget, can I?” Stephen said bitterly.
“I guess not. Anyway, are you going to go to the reunion?”
The reunion. That was the last place Stephen wanted to go. Go and see a bunch of pride from old friends while some of the friends could never go.
“No. I burned that crap.”
“Why?”
“Why? Why the hell do you want to go, Twiggy? Don’t you remember anything? Do you really want to just go back there and remember that horrible, painful war? Are you really that stupid?”
“Don’t you dare call me stupid, okay? I spent a long time trying to look up your number just so I could invite my old buddy to feel some pride. We are heroes.”
“No we aren’t and you should stop kidding yourselves. You know we are nothing but scum.”
“Shut your trap. You're just a bitter creep like the rest of them.” Twiggy sighed. “You’ve changed man.”
“Yeah; I got common sense.” Stephen slammed down the phone.

July 4th
5:28 pm
Stephen pulled up in his car, terrified at the social situations that would no doubt be surrounding him in a few minutes.
“Dad!” His youngest son, Cato, answered the door. Stephen stayed away from him especially because he looked exactly like Rachel in male form and that scared him. Cato, not realizing the similarities, had become quite hurt that Stephen had been avoiding him. For Rachel’s sake, Stephen reached out and gave him a hug.
“Hello, son. Nice to see you.” Stephen had seen Cato once since the funeral, and Stephen had been so rude to Cato that Cato never bothered to come around the house like Michael did. Just then, a small pair of legs toddled up to Stephen along with a little girl.
“Grandpa!” Sophia’s childhood innocence had always amazed Stephen and made him so envious of it. He was barley a kid himself when his innocence was taken away from him. Taken away in Nom. Everything goes back to Nom.
“Hi, baby!” Stephen cried out and wrapped his arms around Sophia. Instantly his mind started to swarm, swarm with the memories of coming back from Nom.
All he wanted to do with say “hi” to his new nephew. To hug his nephew and get a sense of belonging back in.
His brother, Joey, was all willing to hand over little Benjamin to his uncle, but his wife quickly stopped Joey.
“Not quite yet; let’s stick with just intermediate family for now. I…read it in a book that that’s the best in the first year.”
Joey shot me an apologetic look, but it didn’t change anything. I was a baby-killer. And that was what I was going to be thought of.
But this was different, he could hug Sophia.
“It’s good to see you, sweetie.”


It was a beautiful and peaceful sight.
The sun was shining, the kids were excited, and Stephen was feeling more relaxed then he had felt in years.
Was it the alcohol? Was it the children? Who knows? Stephen sure didn’t care. He was talking to old family friends, people who he had cried in front of at Rachel’s funeral. Some of his older friends would share old stories before Vietnam, before the monsters of fear crowded around Stephen’s brain and ate away at him.
It could not have been a better day.

911 Call
July 4th,2012

911 Operator: 911 please state your emergency
Caller: Yeah…we uh…got a guy and he started shooting up this place
911 Operator: Do you know this man? Is he still there?
Caller: No, I don’t know him. I guess he’s a friend or something of the guy throwing the party but he just went nuts when he heard fireworks and ran somewhere and then came back with a gun and just started shooting at random.
911 Operator: Wounded or dead?
Caller: At least 4 people are dead
911 Operator: Are you in danger?
Caller: No; he just shot himself.

Police Interrogation
July 5th, 2012
7:58 a.m.
•
Sergeant Crimson: State your name for the record.
•
Tyler Robins: Tyler Robins
•
SC: Mr. Robins, you were there shootings that occurred at the Wayne household on July 4th?
•
Tyler Robins: Yes, sir. I was.
•
SC: Can you explain what happened, in your own words?
•
TR: Well…everything was totally cool until the fireworks started going off. Nothing happened until then. We were having a good time, everything was awesome but then…
•
Investigator Turner: And then what?
•
TR: I’m sorry…this is really hard…my wife is in surgery right now…she got shot?
•
IT: Would you like to come back tomorrow?
•
TR: No…I need to get this out or I will never come back. I know that.
•
SC: Then what happened when the fireworks started up?
•
TR: It happened kind of slow at first. The fireworks started going off and, of course, all the kids were going crazy and were really excited and the dogs were barking and all of that stuff that happens with fireworks, and then I saw an old guy going nuts and he started screaming. Michael, the guy who was throwing the party, ran over to the guy and tried to calm him down…but he socked Michael and Michael went down.
•
SC: For the record by “socked” you mean…
•
TR: He punched him.
•
SC: I see. Continue.
•
TR: Anyway, the old guy got in the car and drove away, but no one really noticed because we were trying to get Michael back up. When Michael came back to conscience, he started telling us to find his dad, his dad isn’t well, find his dad…but we didn’t know who his dad was so we just thought he was delusional. Then this guy, who I guess is Michael’s brother, ran over to Michael. Michael told him “Find Dad, dad thinks it’s Nom.” I didn’t understand what he was saying, but the brother seemed to because then he got in his car and drove off. About a minute after the brother drove away, the old guy comes back and…and…
•
SC: Mr. Robins?
•
TR: (Sounds of sobs) I’m sorry…can we finish this up later. I need a minute…please. I need a minute.

(After a twenty minute break)
•
SC: So what happened when Mr. Wayne came back?
•
TR: He had a gun. I don’t know where he got it. He must have gone to his house or something. He came back, and he started screaming out all this random stuff…he had brought this weird thing with him, like it was beer but…I don’t know. He would take a sip of it and start screaming random stuff. It may have been…I don’t know, that really weird drug? I heard about it in school. I don’t remember what it is called.
•
SC: It doesn’t really matter. Just continue
•
TR: He shot the guy throwing the party first. He laughed and screamed, “Take that, you d*** Commies!” and then he shot two more people I didn’t recognize. And then…he shot…my wife.” (The sounds of sobbing can be heard)
•
IT: Then what?
•
TR: I don’t know. I was caring for my wife and I wasn’t paying attention to much else. I heard later that he had shot about five more people before he shot himself.

Speech Spoken at Michael Wayne’s Funeral By His Brother, Cato Wayne
July 12th, 2012
Hello, friends and family of Michael Wayne. I thank you all so much for coming out for your support of the nicest and bravest man I ever knew. Michael Wayne was not just my brother, my partner and crime, and the guy I always managed to get into trouble with, he was also my best friend.
I’m not allowed to talk about the crime that occurred on the anniversary of the birth of our nation, due to liability issues and all that stuff, but what I can tell you is that Michael did not deserve anything he got that day. He had been nothing but nice to my father, who I could not handle ever since he kicked me out of the house, but Michael persisted in keeping a relationship with his father. I wasn’t strong enough or patient enough to even try. Michael…I’m sorry, I promised I wouldn’t cry…I promised…I just…
Thank you Michael. Thank you for everything you have done for me. Thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for being the best big brother in the world. You are amazing. And I will never forgive our father what he did to you.


Despite how Cato felt about his father, he knew enough about him to, as a last request, have his ashes placed next to his long time friend, Lucas Smith.

The sounds of the attack register at my feet.
I rise immediately. I know what I have to do and I know I have to do it before it gets too far.
They are back. I knew they would come back. Death is like a communist. A communist that sneaks in at any given point so it can take away everything and anything you have ever fought for.
And I am ready.
I am ready to take up the gun, take up my rifle and fight back for what I couldn’t save Lucas from, and I couldn’t save Rachel from, but I can save my sons from.
Bam! The communist cries of gunfire cause the children to scream in delight. How little they know. How little they truly know.
But I have my gun. And I can take out everyone standing in front of me.
I fire back, smiling as I do so. I haven’t felt this alive in so long. So long I’ve been hiding in the shadows, pretending that no one is here. Pretending that the Communists are gone and that no one is out to get me.
That is bull. That is total bull.
I know who my enemy is. I’ve always known who my enemy was and I can’t forget about any of that.
Everyone in front of me is my enemy. And I will destroy the enemy.
And I will destroy myself, because I would destroy myself before I would let the enemy destroy me.
I fire another shot, and another, and another. I grin as the stupid Commies fall in front of me. I smile as another one goes down. F*** the Charlies!
I look for my son, and I’m unable to find him. Whatever. He must see what I’m doing. He must love it.
A general comes up to me, trying to stop me. That’s enough. That’s enough. The generals are all against me. The generals are all trying to get us killed. And isn’t that what war is? Kill them before they kill you? Obviously! Without hesitation, I shoot the general. I won’t make it out of here alive anyway.
Because there is something they don’t tell you when you are on your way to Vietnam, when you go home from Vietnam, or even while you are in Vietnam. This is something they don’t write about in history books, something they don’t put on the news, and something they don’t teach you in college. There are some things that you need to learn for yourself.
They don’t teach you that war is hell. They teach you about all the soldiers that have become heroes, and then glaze over the “non-heroes” like me and my buddies. They don’t teach you about what you feel when you watch your best friend fall to the ground, dead. They don’t teach you how to listen to orders and shoot someone at the same time. They don’t teach you that you aren’t always the “conquering hero” when you get home.
The other thing they don’t teach you, is that the war didn’t end in Vietnam. The war will always continue in yourself.
That’s all I’m thinking of when I put a bullet in the next guys head. That’s all I think about when I lift the gun up to my head, and take the last breath of pain and suffering.
BANG!