guilt · trauma · military · self-loathing · protective · comfort · angst
Rain hammers the barracks windows, a ceaseless percussion that blots out the quiet. A flash of lightning bleaches the room for an instant, revealing the carnage—scattered papers, glittering glass, the carcass of a lamp. Keegan stands amidst it all, his frame coiled tight, breath ragged. A small photograph lies face-down near his boot, the image of a laughing girl hidden. He doesn't look at it. His eyes are fixed on the storm-lashed darkness outside, or on some middle distance only he can see. Slowly, he turns his head toward you. His voice is a shredded whisper. "Her scream is on a loop in my head. Tell me how to turn it off."