Nightmare (500 words)

    My ears were ringing when I awoke. My head was pounding and my vision, blurry. I couldn’t be sure if the images were real or a remnant of a dream – I wasn’t even completely sure if my eyes were open. After a few moments,  I gathered my composure. My room. I was in my room. 

Goosebumps had formed on my arms. The fan above was blowing full blast and my bare back was dripping with sweat. My shaved head laid on the pillow drenched in my fear. I had a nightmare again. They came more frequently lately; almost every night.

“You ok, babe?” My stirring woke my wife and, as with other nights like this, her eyebrows were raised and she was crying, yet still trying to put forth a soothing smile. 

“Y-yeah.,” I answered through quickened breathing. I forced myself to breathe deep and answered again, “Yeah. I’m ok.”

She went to the desk and came back with my inhaler, “You have another nightmare?”

She was wearing the robe I got her for her birthday two months prior.  Red silk with her name in flowery writing on the front.

“Yeah. Worse this time.”

“What was it about?”

“War,” I said, “always war. I saw Tony again.”

“Tony will always be with you, sweetie. Maybe he’s trying to talk to you. Did he say anything?” She sat and placed her hand on my thigh.

“He was dying  in my arms again. He told me to let him go. He told me to go on without him.” I wiped sweat from my brow and rested my head in my hands.

“It has been five years since you were relieved of duty. You haven’t seen war in a long time. Do you think he’s right?”

I stood and walked to the window. “Maybe. Maybe I’ve been holding on to him. Holding on to the memory. It’s hard not to, babe. He was my brother.”

“I know, Love.”

“I’m the last of my family. We were the last. Now, I’m alone.” I poured myself a whiskey from a bottle I kept on the nightstand.

“It’s a bit early, Trace…”

“I know,” I said sharply. 

She retracted.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I just can’t keep watching him die in my dreams. I can’t take it.” A tear fell from each eye and I blinked the moisture gone.

“I know, sweetie.” 

She gently took the drink from my hand and kissed my shoulder – the one that took the bullet. The shoulder that couldn’t save my brother. The one that allowed the assault rifle round to pass-through, hitting Tony in the chest. I tried. I tried.

My fingers ran through her hair and kissed the top of her head, “I’m okay, babe. I’ll be okay.”

Tony’s picture sat on my desk, framed in an oak picture frame – his favorite wood. He was a carpenter when we were younger. Before the war. Before all the death. I stared at it for a moment. “I’m okay,” I said.