He was one of
the men who didn’t talk about it.
A quiet man, he’d just shake his head if asked about
it.
When he returned home, he’d told his wife to put his
uniform away, in the back of the closet, where he’d never have to look at it
again. He’d preferred to have burned it, but that seemed wrong, somehow.
One of his brothers never came back, one was ruined by
gas he’d been exposed to, and the last one came home, crawled into a bottle,
and never came out.
There’d been nothing heroic about any of it.
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