He looked down into the water and the man he saw reflected back up at him in the moonlight was not a man he recognized. Until one night, beneath the light of a full moon, he came to a crossroads by a little unfrozen pool. The hum of the bullets around his ears and the screams of the dying worked their way up his throat and out his lips, until he sat shivering in the darkness.Īs Christmas came on he found himself walking the paths of the park, smoking, trying to keep himself awake each night. But it was not sleep he often found there, for when the night wrapped itself around him, with the dark came the green, and the jungle pressing close. He found a place beneath a little bridge where he made his home. He sat with the old men in the park who mumbled to themselves, passing back and forth that bottle of wine. And he spent many long nights in the county jail for bloodying a man who had called him a “baby killer” as they sat drinking.He began to spiral down. The children dressed in rainbows turned away. Women on the street would spit on his uniform as he walked past. And he found that the people there did not like his kind. In the city where he found himself discharged, he had no friends and no family. Once upon a time, a young soldier returned to the shores of America from the jungles of Vietnam. Join or Renew Organizational Membership.
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