New Beginnings

I slammed the door shut, the driver speeding off. My eyes took in the white picket fence and the small baby blue two-story house in front of me. Surprisingly, it looks clean other than the fence and porch falling apart. I set my bags down and sighed; this couldn't get any worse.

Not only was my only job done and over with me— but now I was thrown to the scraps like a mangy dog. My anger bubbles, grabbing the handle of my suitcase I trudge up to the gate and open it wide.

The old hinges scream in agony, and my ears, already annoyed from the driver's constant rambling- fume. Shutting the gate behind me once I step in, I make my way up the small gravel path to the porch. The crunch and grumble under my feet made my jaw tick. The porch was neatly decorated with a small chair to the left of the door.

Maybe when I'm old and decrepit, I'll sit in that chair and watch the neighbor kids play football. Give me some sort of entertainment because fuck knows I'll never own a TV. I drag my suitcase up the small flight of stairs and pull out a ring of keys from my pocket. The old keys jangled, and oh so sadly didn't sparkle since it was a covered porch. 

My head was blank, not a sarcastic thought insight as I figured out which key fit. After finding the knob's correct key- I shove the rusty key into position. Twisting, I'm scared the damn thing will break off in the door, but luckily, the door creeps open. Pulling the key out, I finally take a look inside. I'm greeted immediately by a small cozy kitchen. Looking to the left is a small greeting table. Looking to the right, a half-built wall suggests the eyes look about the living room. 

With a soft hum, I wheel my suitcase in and shut the door behind me. I walk in and set the keyring down on the island counter. Four neatly placed barstools line along the bar. It's kind of useless, knowing it's just me in this house. 

I prop my suitcase up and walk around the barrier. Two couches, no armchair? I frown, but I glance up in front of me. Holy shit, a fucking massive TV and a fireplace? Damn this house is tiny, but at least it's nice.

Looking around, I'm confused; there's a second floor, but where is the staircase— a ladder? There's only a ladder? Wow, this house isn't that tiny but okay then. I wander over towards the door behind the set of couches. Opening it I'm greeted by a small quaint restroom. With a small shower, a toilet, and a sink along with a few knickknacks littered about. 

I huff and shut the door. Time to ascend the ladder, I push my way through the small living room and begin the climb. Soft khaki walls matched with burgundy rest easy on my eyes as well as the three brown doors. Door one leads to a larger bathroom, homier than the other. The second door leads to a decently sized guest room. 

The third door on the other hand led to a grand and large master bedroom. There weren't any windows but to me, unlike others, that made it all the better. My woodworking bench was set in the corner, my newest and most favorite hobby taking my life by storm. Canvases lean against the walls. 

My eyes finally lie resting on the flush bed, the warm red blanket, and the dark brown wooden headboard. Instantly my legs carried me over letting my permanently exhausted body collapse. To my liking, there's not a mirror- though my clothing does hang on a shelf neatly- there's no mirror. 

Every time I look in a mirror I'm just reminded of what happened in those ten years. The years of loss and living hell plague my mind. Every time I try to separate myself from it I'm reminded.

Sitting up from what was once comfort, I'm brought back. I hate thinking and letting my thoughts ramble. It always gets me into trouble. My anxiety ticks as I pick at my cuticles, tearing at the flesh to relieve my building stress.

I shake my head and make my way to the bathroom. Let's just take a shower, and get my mind off of everything. Stumbling into the bathroom I lean against the wall, locking eyes with myself in the mirror. The whole entirety of the right side of my face is covered in scars from past stitches and the occasional burns.

My anger rose, as I staggered forward gripping the counter. The explosion took so much from me. I looked down at my hand, it balled itself into a fist. I lost the man I planned to marry to that damn war!

Before I knew it, I reeled my arm back and punched the mirror, the glass shattered. Glass shards cutting my skin, the frail scar tissue easy to cut through. The sharp blades slice through my skin- blood pouring from the wounds. Tearing my arm away from the scene I grasp my wrist. 

Quickly my reflexes kick in as I search the cabinet under the sink. Thank fuck I always keep a medkit on hand, I pull the red box out one-handed. I sit on the lid of the toilet going through the box for tweezers. Once I found a pair I got right to work pulling the glass shards out of my knuckles. 

How could I have been so stupid? One second I'm in control, the next I've smashed a brand new mirror. This is why I typically don't own any mirrors. Setting the pieces plucked from my hand down on the counter— I grab some disinfectant slathering it on the wounds. I hissed, the sting was painful as I began to wrap my knuckles in bandages. 

I'll have to get it checked out how soon they could build something in this house like stairs or maybe even an elevator. My body doesn't work much right anymore. With the muscles in my arms and legs… I'll need to reschedule appointments with a local physical therapy department.

It's about the only thing that helps anymore, besides a bath. I completely dress my wounds and promise to myself to clean the glass up later as I wander out. I just want to sleep now, this hell sucks already. Tomorrow I'll go out and actually- hopefully— manage to do something. 

I nod to myself, looking insane, glad I'm the only one here. Throwing my bedroom door open and shutting it behind me. I rush, as quickly as I can, over towards the bed. Fuck. I collapse once again into its comfort. Let's go to sleep and forget about that incident.

Maybe we'll wake up and make breakfast, maybe we'll wake up and have a good day. Maybe my body won't ache! A gentle smile graced my face as my eyes began to shut. I hope there's no pain tomorrow.

Waking up I'm reminded, never mind, how could I ever get a good day. It's wrong for me to ask for a good day at this point. My body felt on fire, every inch of my clothes touching me too much. My body screamed, every muscle on fire while every bone groaned. 

Stumbling out of bed I fell to the floor, refusing to scream. My head rested against the cold wall. Everything is bad, it's too hot, it's too painful, it's all too much! Closing my eyes as the world spun, it felt as though the cuts on my hand were opening. The weak flesh tearing away from the protective bounty of a scab.

I reach up on the nightstand, searching for the handheld electronic. Goddammit, I left my phone downstairs in the stupid suitcase. Yet I lie here, needing— wanting to scream. Though I know I couldn't. I've spent so long mute that I couldn't just resume speaking. It would be so easy, just like fighting for my life each passing day. It's not easy. 

I know that explosion should have fucking killed me! Just like it had killed him,— it tore him limb for limb right in front of my eyes. The searing pain from the explosion coursed through my body, the memory like cancer. 

Grinding my teeth together I began the painstaking arrangement of pulling myself up off the ground. They were so desperate! Why couldn't they have sent me away, I was injured in the field. My arms reached the nightstand, pulling me up. Yet I stayed there, recouped and in a short time was deployed again.

Breathing hard, I pulled myself off the floor, my muscles straining. My hair fell in front of my eyes, the black strands drenched in sweat. Stumbling against the wall I made my way to the door. Get me out, get me out! Throwing the door open I stumbled out. 

The glass, glass, glass.

My eyes shook, calm, calm down. It felt like a bad dream as I made my way over to the bathroom. Glass, blo– blood, glass with blood. I stepped over the glass. The sharp blades sparkled in the light from the windows. Shutting the curtains, I flicked the lights on.

We need it cold— cold, I'm too hot. I turn the nozzle on the bathtub, switching it to come out of the showerhead. Pulling the shirt off over my head I fall against the wall. I'm a mess- mess? Is that the correct word?

My mind was fuzzy, as I stripped off my clothes. Climbing in the shower my eyes stuttered as I leaned against the shower wall. Fuck this. I miss him, my closest friend is gone. And I miss him. My eyes stutter as my vision blurred. I stand under the shower, the cold water easing my poor aching skin. 

Past scars twinged and screamed, the sensitivity bugged my brain out as I shivered. I'm so sensitive to all the trauma on my body alongside my mind. Everything buzzes down to the core, the jittering ache. 

I grab the bottle of shampoo and squirt some in my hand, setting the bottle swiftly down. Spreading the soapy residue between my hands I begin to scrub at my scalp. The soap is foaming as I tilt my head back against the wall. I enjoy washing my hair, it doesn't feel like the greatest thing in the world but it still feels pleasant. 

My hands raked through the wild strands of wet hair, detangling it. I hummed as I rinsed and applied some newly redeemed conditioner to the ends avoiding my scalp. Rinsing the remaining suds I get to work scrubbing down my body. 

Lathering a loofa with enriching body wash I take my time over the large burn marks and scrub everything else. Though I may seem miserable and depressed, I try to take care of myself. It's challenging though, living alone whilst suffering from so many problems is a risk. I knew that walking into it doesn't mean I'll go live with my parents. I was already a problem child when I lived there, so I don't need to go back just be another one.

Turning off the cold shower I hop out and dry myself off, avoiding the hazardous glass. Now I have to get clothes which I happen to have left in my bedroom. I grumble and wrap a town around, stepping over the see-through shards. 

I make my way to the master bedroom, picking out clothes— I threw them on without a care. A mangy old army t-shirt and dark denim pants. Grabbing my phone I mumble out in my head, let's go explore the town.