She bites her nails until there is nothing left to bite. She pulls her hair until there is nothing left to pull. She waits even when there is nothing to wait for.

He's dead. Not coming back ever. She can't even see his body. She can't kiss his now cold lips good bye. She can't hold his hands, or see his closed eyes.
She rams against the wall again, again. Trying to wake up. Change reality.
She collapses on the bed, a heap of sorrow and shards of broken heart.


In the morning, she drives to the airport, where he is waiting.
Flight 653, arrival; 8:30
She has a basket of presents under her arm. Little army men, fireworks, Mr. Goodbars (his favorite), a key to her heart.

7:30 At the terminal she waits
8:00 She goes and buys two croissants from a vendor. She only eats one.
8:30 The plane has landed
8:40 The plane has emptied, and she is left all on her own. And she begins to scream.
She's now sitting in her car. Windows down. Some cheesy song blasts from the speakers.
He's gone. He's gone. He's gone
A silent mantra in her head as she drives back home.

Along the way she spits out the window. It lands on a car covered with army stickers. She gives it the finger.

All the Mr. Goodbars are gone and she is busy writing a hate letter. To Him.
Why did he have to join. It wasn't for the cause. No, it was just for the thrill, to be invincible. And look where he was now.
Once done she rights on the envelope.
Mr. A****** John Docker, above the address.
She will mail it tomorrow.

Her feet up on the table watch the small TV as she sleeps. And dreams of him come again.