The snow kept falling over the docks on a cold winter morning in Lompoc California. Tommy's cheeks were rose red from the bitter winds that were mostly unheard of in this part of the country. The sky was a mesh of marble gray and black. He stared out at the city and the open dock, taking in a deep breath of air. Pleased to be back in the states. The boat distracted him from his joy as it blew it's last call whistle and sailed back to the hell hole it came from.
There were hundreds of others on the ship with him, some he knew from the deserts near Baghdad and Samarra. Others were just men around camp he shared beers with and played ball with. Slowly, the memories drifted back. Reminding him of all the hatred and violence that he saw and took part in. Tommy pushed the thoughts out of his head and began to walk towards the the city of gray and white. The joy was overwhelming. To finally be home after 7 years over seas. Nothing feels the same as returning home. Adults and children charged about the town square, desperately searching for last minute Christmas gifts and trinkets. He smiled as the people ran about like ants, scurrying away from a boy with a magnifying glass. This was a feeling he had not had since he left. The feeling of a smile on his cheeks.
Tommy toured around the city for a couple more hours. He stopped inside a small shop to pick up a pair of civilian clothes. Once inside, he looked around until he decided on a pair of jeans, a long sleeved black shirt, and a navy blue hooded sweatshirt. The reflection in the dressing room mirror startled him for a moment. The snow from outside had turned his normally golden hair, into a messy pile of mud on his head. His eyes were blue windows into a man with a troubled soul. He severed any further contact with the mirror until his departure. Upon exiting the store, he stopped in the entrance way and let out a heavy sigh, then trudged off to find a hotel to rest for the night.
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Subscribe
Flag Writing