Shell Schocked

Gregor sobbed uncontrollably as he overlooked the endless rows of graves. Huddled in his wheelchair – that had become his prison cell – the light autumn breeze stroked the deep river of wrinkles on his face, wet from the incessant tears and saliva. He breathed in the smell of the crushed pine needles that permeated the air as he listened to the wind rustling against the trees. He felt the spring sun rays, reflected from the white crosses marking the fallen, soothing his aged skin that concealed the torment of his past.

His wife and children, sitting beside him, hugged him in an attempt to relieve his pain. The ceaseless rattling of his legs against the metal frame of the wheel chair was a sick reminder to the horrors he had experienced in his youth. Closing his eyes, images of his scarred memories flashed through his mind like a series of black and white images unearthed from their hibernation…the pain he had lived with…for all those years…

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“What do you plan to do after the war Karl?” Gregor asked as his hands felt the soft sea of grass.

“Me? Shouldn’t you know already? I’ve known you for as long as I can remember and still you don’t know?” he replied between mouthfuls of dry bread.

“Obviously not seeming as you change your mind: two weeks ago you wanted to be a florist and the next day a painter?”

Slowly and steadily, Karl stopped chewing his bread and methodically drew a cigarette. It was some time before he spoke again, and when he did, it was in a soft, low tone. “I guess Gregor, that the real answer is I don’t have any plans after the war. I doubt I’ll make it out alive. You’re all I’ve got left. I have no money, house, job or anything waiting for me back home except for an aging mother, all I have is you. If you go, there will be no future for me.”

Silently he took in what Karl had just said. Gregor knew that what had been said was true. All he could do was pray it never happened.  

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