I've been plagued by nightmares. So intense and detailed, I wake up startled, and it takes a few minutes to realize I'm okay.
Here's the one I remember best.
We leaned against a brick building, jagged shards of glass in the window above us. Battered M16s pressed against our backs from shoulder slings.
The building was a solid alternative to other places we'd used. A smaller brick wall stretched about 10 feet from the corner of the house. Like where you'd put those big trash cans.
We were covered head to toe in shallow wounds, debris, and flushes of dirt. He pulled bits of wood and other things out of my hair. It felt pointless. No one still alive would care. We could hear mortars crashing around us, and a barrage of gunfire filled the breath of quiet between them. This was our new normal, and it had been a long time since we'd been startled.
Cigarette smoke curled through the air, like ghosts.
"We need to figure out our next move," he said.
Safe? Sure but we couldn't stay here forever. My voice held an odd calm.
"We can get to the safe house before nightfall."
He sighed.
"What?"
He shook his head. "It's not safe there."
"It's literally a safe house."
"Mole, remember? You won't be safe there."
I kicked the gravel beneath our feet. "I'm not safe anywhere."
A carousel of faces flashed in my mind's eye. So many people had chosen death to protect me. I didn't understand why I was so damn important. I didn’t feel so damn important.
His hand on my shoulder, he kissed the top of my head. "It's not your fault."
I shook my head. "Except it is. It always is." I shifted the rifle as I pushed away from the wall. "Might as well get moving."
"We've got this," he whispered.
But did we? I exhaled one long, slow breath. We rounded the corner and disappeared into shadows.
Welcome to my brain.