His eyes demanded attention; looking away was not an option. Something reflected there told me he had seen things the rest of us could never begin to imagine.
Through the eyes of a soldier I live each day. They haunt me each time I look into the mirror, my breath catching as cold gray steel glares back at me.
When I dream, I see only what he has been through while serving two tours. I do not know the names of the men that have tried to kill me or those that I have killed in order to survive. I am haunted by the faces of the men, women and children encountered in war.
Each day I felt more of my own identity slip away as Sergeant Eli Stevens crept deeper into my mind. If I had known what accepting this transplant would mean to my sanity, I would have chosen to go blind.
I Don't Like Statues Either.
1 day ago