They Gave Their Today For Your Tomorrow
The sky was painted with bright colors of gold and autumn hues that seemed to stretch on forever. Not a single cloud ruined the scenic view, despite the moon of mourning and depression. The war was won. The bloody, violent and horrible war was finally over. And yet I felt empty.
I stood in a large crowd of ponies, most having never breathed the scent of a bomb before it exploded, seen thick blood gush out of a decapitated head. Never heard the dying screams of soldiers they considered family. I felt my knees wobble as they Mayor's words drifted back into focus as she read from her script.
"-we will never forget the pain and death that our soldiers have suffered. The trauma our children have seen."
I scoffed at her, the idea of her attempting to understand what we'd gone through almost amusing. And suddenly, almost in an instant, I was back in the war. Gunfire rattled through my skull as explosions shook the ground without fault. The screams never ceased.
I stumbled backwards, lungs heaving while my pupils dilated. The crowd of mourners came back into focus, decked out in Equestrian colors and flags. A few worried faces looked my way, before nodding in respect as I regained my composure. It happened often. Normally at firework shows, done in celebration of the victory, and yet each explosion sent me spiraling back into days spent lodged in a ditch with a sweaty rifle gripped in my hooves. And yet, I didn't feel glad it was over. I felt useless without my rifle, without the constant guidance of my general.
"And with our greatest respects, we pray their souls rest peacefully up above. Lest we forget." The mayor finished with a bow of her head. The crowd followed suit, all except for the veterans who saluted emotionlessly towards the fluttering Eauestrian flag. With no though, my muscles moved to the salute drilled into my memory, staring thoughtfully into the flag I've sworn to protect.
I'd spend days huddled in my house, hugging blankets while sobbing into bottles of whiskey while the dying eyes of my comrades imprinted into my vision. Other days, I'd grip a broom tightly to my chest, staring at the door for imaginary enemies to come bursting in while fireworks shook in the distance. I was alone in this. Sure, I'd spend nights at taverns with fellow soldiers, laughing about the old days spent killing the enemy. And yet, the hole in my heart remained empty. The nostalgia of adrenaline becoming a constant in battle throbbed through my brain.
The pain of running relentlessly through the pounding rain to shoot our way through a swamp rushed into me, and I stumbled once more before focusing on the sunlight peering through the clouds.
"Um, excuse me?" A small voice ripped my attention over, and I turned to a small filly who stood before me. She gripped a miniature Equestrian flag in her hooves, a sympathetic look on her young face. "I wanted to thank you, sir. For your service."
She leaned forward and gently kissed my cheek, smiling happily before retreating back to her smiling mother's arms. And suddenly that hole was filled. The fact that all these ponies genuinely felt grateful for us, thankful to us. I was unable to stop smiling as a line of young teenagers began giving me followers.
We who have seen war, never stop seeing it.
