More Than Life

More than This

Sometimes, he believed there was more to life than being homeless, but he kept hearing the gunfire and it happened day or night, and it could be triggered simply by seeing a child chewing on gum. He knew the miles were not measured in clicks, not every road had a hidden bomb, not every window could have a person needing to be interrogated. Sometimes, time went sideways and revolved, the faces blanked out and the next thing he knew he was staring at a red light like it was a hot desert sun. There is more to life than this, he repeated to hold himself together, but pieces were tinker toy sticks. He had not shaved since he returned. If he used a blade on his throat to shave, he might not know when to stop hacking. He had some boundaries, however each day someone moved the check points. He waited in the soup kitchen line behind the lady who talked to the ceiling in a loud, grinding voice, reminding him of tanks on dry river beds. Today the peas looked like plasma. Tomorrow he might stand in this same line, but it won’t be soup day. It smells like mess halls and firefights. Sometimes, he believes the world had forgotten him. They had forgotten their promises to welcome him back. All they did now was notice the stump where his left leg had been. Today, the enemy was sneaking around. He could hear them in the distance. They sounded like mailmen delivering junk mail and circulars. There are days when he cannot remember where he used to live. He keeps looking for the sentry and the barracks. There are days when it does not feel like a day. There has to be more than this in life, he repeats as a mantra, there has to be more than this to life.