Tick - Tock. Tick. Tock. Footsteps of a tens of men running with coordination. Feeling of the warm sand crushing under your feet. The blood rushing through your veins. Knowing every minute could be your last but going nonethless. The explosions... Bullets... Adrenaline... Lif-

''Death?''

A cold reminder of reality leaves me startled for a second. Not the word death or the meaning it carries. The voice and waking up from a dreamland in the fountain of memories ''I... I am sorry... What?'' Once again I am half lying on the couch. Face to face with a stone faced therapist in the colourless room, gives me depression as if I needed more.

''When you talk about war. You never mention about death. You keep a distant with the horror of it. Don't keep it locked inside your mind and let it out. Sometimes-'' She does a pushing move to her knees. She does that when she lost concentration. Her mind is somewhere else today. Her hair looks messy and her dress isn't well pressed as usual. The problem comes from home. Her wedding ring has moved from it's right place indicating that she played with her ring before I came. Occasionally peeking at her phone. Waiting for a call. Maybe an apology. ''-We must stop running and embrace the truth as it is, Mister Clayworth'' Problem with marriage, most certainly.

What was she saying? Oh, right! ''I don't know why it happens. I mean really! I actually have the faintest idea. Somehow when it comes to that. That... I don't see it in the piccture, that's all. I don't know...'' This is... Well I forgot how many times we've been doing this. She sees death where I see life. Now she'll connect this with my daily life and ask about my day. What I do and how I spent my time.

''I understand...'' She readjustes her glasses and takes some notes. ''The cause probably comes from adjustment issues. We're over this many times now. What do you do when you get back home? When you wake up? Have you made any progression on your 'new' life?'' Quick glances at phone continues but the frequency lowers as time goes.

''I am not really-'' I feel a little moisture over my head. The silent scene gets broken with the rain drops little knocking on the window. ''- sure about it. I wake up. Have breakfast as I read the paper. I work out. Sithavelunchsleep.'' I am aware that I spelled last words as if they wre one but couldn't help with the dullness of it. Dullness, yes. Since the accident my life could be explained in one word. Dull...

''Don't you have any new people in your life? Maybe a friend? An old friend? A date?''

I think about the last time I met someone new. There were doctors, nurses, that old man who rented the house and her; my psychiatrist. ''I... Talk to the... Paper boy sometimes. I give him tips.'' As I talk I feel the tragedy that's called my life. I know I am alone and yes, I can see why that could be a mistake. I can understand people who likes friends. They are the crowd people and I am not one of them. I wasn't one before and I certainly am not now.

''You must let new people in your life, Mister Clayworth. You can't be alone all your life. Go out sometimes. Once in a while just say 'hi' to people.'' She takes off her glasses and place it on her table. Her movement even though some kind of a muscle memory thing, it's always so heedfull. This usually means it's the end times with the honest words. ''I know you see me as your therapist but you are not like the other patients. You are like a friend to me Wilfred, you know that! Do me a favor and just listen my advicei allright?''

''I-'' I am not actually sure what to say. ''-understand what you mean.'' I can't really tell her the emptyness of the life I'm living but I am sure deep down she knows how I feel. Her posture, her looks she feels sorry for me. An unethically wrong thing to show but she couldn't help it which tells me how bad is my situation to me. ''I will try it. I pro...'' No promises. ''yes, I will try. Just say hi, right?'' I try to imitate a smile even thouh I utterly fail it's the thought that counts.

I change my pose to sitting as she extends me my cane. A black cane with a silver handler. Nothing too much but not a grandpa cane aswell. I grab it hard and with the help of my left leg I get up. The body weight is divided through my left leg and the cane taking the pressure off from the right leg. I hid my left hand inside the pocket of my coat to escape the hand shake. ''Thank you, doctor.'' The hand tremor is like a drunk uncle I'm avoiding to see. I feel bad in hand shakes as the other feels the tremor. ''Like I said. I'll try to do what you told me. See you later.'' I hear her phone ringing as I slowly leave the room. As if I can do it other way than that. Ever since I came back this is like it. Everything I do is slowly because of the nonhelping leg and the hand that shakes without my knowledge.

I pull over a cab. I get in. The driver asks address and I answer. My mouth opens up to say hi but gets closed as fast. I don't say anything. The drivers looks at me with the pitying eyes. So young! He is possibly saying in his mind. When you live like this you get used to it in a few weeks. Maybe a month if you're one of that fragile persons but anyway you get used to it. The day ends I think with all it's exoteric feelings but A note put carefully on the door of my apartment cuts it all off.

As I take the note a clipping falls off. Death of an old vet. I've read it two days ago. A brother in arms. A friend from the army had died of an hearth attack. I didn't go the to funurel but I knew it anyway. The feeling of the lost days attacks to my rib cage. The breathings gets faster as I read the words written on the note;

'No more stains, Wilfred. The great purge has started.'