2am… I just sit there, in the dark. The chair makes the occasional creaking sound under the weight of my armour.
I sit there with my knife in hand.
Its hard to tell how long I’ve been sitting there. My mind still reeling after the happenings that night. I sit there listening to the police in the street, and the occasional car door slamming shut.
So tired. So restless and too tired to move.
Just another night, just another fight. Max, the parrot, safely sleeping back in her nest after the gunfire had woken her up. There were only three emotions I could remember feeling that night.
Rage, running, moving my heavy armour after them, determined to make them bleed for what they did. Seering boiling anger at the injustice they did to a loved one.
Tired. My muscles aching after jumping walls with all my heavy gear. My mind tired of all the senseless violence. Tired of fighting. Tired of feeling so alone.
Loneliness. Desolation… I felt so alone. While I was out there, doing what had to be done, nobody had my back. My family all conveniently occupied. Lonely because no-one would understand what I felt. Feeling so alive while feeling so angry.
Sometimes I still feel alone in that way.
A lot has changed since that night. I dealt with the anger. The emotional scars are still there, but healed to the point where I do not feel the pain any more.
I found someone to have my back. Even though she would never have it in combat.
I haven’t had to pull my knife on anyone lately. My enemies are no longer people, but rather things that have to be fixed. Fixed with a gentle hand, and not with a knife.
Just like combat, just like life, this post has no real point. Even when we try putting the odds and ends together, it doesn’t make much sense.
Or, maybe, this is just what you had to read to find the last piece of your puzzle. All we can do is keep going, and when going on long enough, we may outlive our enemies and problems.
Just maybe its all a test, a way to become all we are capable of.
Its all in your hands