It starts…
As a sizable
Block of ice
Stripped down in size
Shaved
Scraped
Sculpted
Slowly revealing
What lies beneath
Hardship gives way
To wings
Ready
For flight
To be free from
It’s frigid entombment
Released
Finally
His cane echoed loudly on the empty street. Nothing looked familiar. Granted, that was sixty-nine years ago. He stopped in the middle of the road, closed his eyes and allowed himself to fade back into his memories. The shouts of commands, the high-pitched scraping noise of metal-on-stone as tanks rolled by, the snap-hiss of bullets barely missing your head, the cries of the wounded and dying. Yes, nothing felt the same.
He knelt at the corner, placing down seven posies, one by one, saying a quiet prayer for his fallen friends and allowed the quiet to wash over him.
No one ever tells you how boring a stake-out is. It’s nothing like the movies show you. TV doesn’t even come close. You sit in the dark, sipping on whatever beverage you can to keep yourself awake, silently praying that something, anything, will happen to break the monotony.
I think out of all of the problems I have, though, being lonely is the thing that bothers me the most. You would think that I wouldn’t have an issue with it, that I would find some kind of solace in it, but nope. It just deepens the sense of night, drawing me into a depression that can only be broken by a strong drink or some extreme action.
I think I’m broken. But, it’s a job, right?
