Brotherhoods start out of necessity and bloom into linked cadavers. Three men return to slanted homes. Adam is astonished by the mere existence of his youngest child. Solo is greeted by his wife's grappling hooks of procreation. And Billy sleeps on the floor of his gutted home, void of a fiancé.
Hell has not remained on that distant continent like their calendars promised. The horrors of sand drenched casualties have hitchhiked on their neural railroads. Ghosts creep over lingerie laced shoulders, and lovers' spit transforms into a nightmare's bloody rain.
Adam was the human bloodhound responsible for sniffing out explosives. His success rate was alarming, but the one percent failure accounted for all the trauma he needed to spiral into self- loathing. Now in his pickup truck, he cannot locate any dangers. They are all internal, and basic training never equipped him to fight these enemies.
He leads his comrades even after their deployment when it becomes evident that unseen scars need treatment. Clogged VA waiting rooms pull like quicksand, and Adam reverts to unconventional line skipping. The civilian workers hiding behind glass can never weigh the significance of their work, because wars are ran by those in mahogany and leather cocoons.
Gratitude is rather expensive when the service is death. Solo claims that the military saved his life, but it only postponed his addiction and strengthened it in the process. Adam's tough facade breaks down quicker than his stoicism can paint over. Intake surveys elegantly tell the real stories of combat on a 1 to 5 spectrum.
Hell has not remained on that distant continent like their calendars promised. The horrors of sand drenched casualties have hitchhiked on their neural railroads. Ghosts creep over lingerie laced shoulders, and lovers' spit transforms into a nightmare's bloody rain.
Adam was the human bloodhound responsible for sniffing out explosives. His success rate was alarming, but the one percent failure accounted for all the trauma he needed to spiral into self- loathing. Now in his pickup truck, he cannot locate any dangers. They are all internal, and basic training never equipped him to fight these enemies.
He leads his comrades even after their deployment when it becomes evident that unseen scars need treatment. Clogged VA waiting rooms pull like quicksand, and Adam reverts to unconventional line skipping. The civilian workers hiding behind glass can never weigh the significance of their work, because wars are ran by those in mahogany and leather cocoons.
Gratitude is rather expensive when the service is death. Solo claims that the military saved his life, but it only postponed his addiction and strengthened it in the process. Adam's tough facade breaks down quicker than his stoicism can paint over. Intake surveys elegantly tell the real stories of combat on a 1 to 5 spectrum.