Lest we forget
Davo was right. It was the shot in the guts that had f****d him up. A daily reminder as he showered when his hands ran over the lumpy, ugly scars. Time will not weary them. Age will not condemn.
No. The condemned still lived. Lest he forget. As if. That was the trouble. He couldn't forget. None of them could. Inebriation worked for a while. A celebration of inebriation, he would say as he toasted his mates; bittersweet memories of being a soldier boy; a boy on the end of a man's d**k.
It hurt when his wife said it was over for good this time. She was tired of his anger, depression and mood swings. She was tired…? He was the one that woke up every f*****g night. Several times a night. Wide awake! Ready for action.
The action had stopped for her years ago.
