Scars For Freedom

I sit here, remembering what I've done.

My throne, my chair. I look at the medals I have ordained on my rotting desk. 

I am taken back to the place I never want to go back to.

A old Polaroid, Iraq, Two-Thousand and Four.

Fallujah.

Two men, one of them me, in a vest and helmet. Desert Camouflage. 

The other man, the same way. Mixed camo.

We were positioned on a building near a road.

Me, and my buddy, Pvt. Nguyen.

We were on a rooftop, I had a M240, while Nguyen had a standard M4.

When we were getting ready to reposition to our sergeant, gunfire rung out.

The man I knew as Nguyen, the face I saw had become mangled, into something I didn't know anymore.

I grabbed the pistol I had never used in the Corps.

I put on my service jacket.

What is at the end? I don't know.

But I hope I get to see Nguyen again.