"The fallen may be the only ones who see an end to bitter hostilities; but there's never an end to shame and disgrace."
soldier's view

I know that hunting season is not supposed to remind me of manhunting; and that the death-throes of the sport fish shouldn't dramatize a distant past. The prepared meat on the dinner table is not supposed to remind me of exploded body fragments. The bright colors and playful banter of joyous companions on an undisciplined wilderness outing are supposed to remind me that "things" have changed. The smoke smells different, the food and drink don't taste the same, the sounds are less hostile, the night's never as ominous ... but I can't forget. I pretend to be "normal", to act as conventionally privileged as anyone else ... but then a sharp noise will startle me into a trained reaction, or an impression will transmute a celebration into an obsequy. A strewn construction site resembles every firebase or basecamp. A country road inspires fire lanes, registration points, ambush triggers, and fall-backs. Parks evoke parade grounds, and landscapes are reminiscent of serried ranks. A truck loaded with baled christmas trees abruptly recollects poncho-wrapped corpses being hauled away for disposal. I remain haunted by the undignified haste and relentless preoccupation of the devouring insects feasting on the remnants of battle ... there is no decent interval, nor honorable pacification, for a lost generation of condemned souls.