I once read that every
warrior hoped an honorable death would find him. I always went looking for
mine, but not even the Reaper wanted me.
I was trained to kill. I was
trained to not ask why. To take orders and just march in line. Hooah
Life or death.
Ride or die.
And I’m not only talking
about the military. I’m talking about the life that led me on the road to
I fought for my brothers.
I fought for my family.
I fought for my country.
And I fought for her…
Never realizing I might die
for them too.
I sat under a tree in an open field, waiting for the twelve
o’clock train to pass through town. Another habit I formed growing up. I loved
nothing more than trucking through the woods on my dirt bike near the tracks. Finding myself in the middle of nowhere, relishing
The past. The present. The future.
Then. Now. Forever.
My fucking life.
Wishing I could get on the next train and never look back.
But it was just that. A wish. A glimmer of hope outside of the bullshit called
my life. Nothing had changed since the last time I fucking lived in this goddamn
town. No welcome home party from family or friends, no thanks or parades from
the town residents for serving our country.
Everything I had done, I had done it for him. If I didn’t
have my baby brother, Noah, to look after, I would have never come back here. I
thought I was done with this place, I left my past behind and everything that
came along with being a Jameson. Then life reared its ugly head and snapped me
back to my reality. In the end it never mattered, I would always be on the
wrong side of the tracks and they would always lead me to the wrong station. Changing
my people, places, and things throughout the years didn’t help change the
outcome of the choices I’d made. Of the things I’d done.