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Echoes of Suffering

Hello!

It has been awhile since I have posted. I recently had a knee replacement operation and had some complications. After 18 days in the hospital/rehab facility, I went home and have been under Home Health Physical Therapy and Nursing care for the past three months.

The Home Health Physical Therapy care has released me, but due to some existing problems, I am still under Home Health nursing care.

I am anxious to get released from Home Health nursing care and hopefully that will happen in the near future.

While I was in the Rahab facility, I had some insomnia and listened to the sounds coming from the ward.

I wrote this short fiction entitled “Echoes of Suffering” one night at 3:00 AM while in the rehab facility.

I hope you enjoy it. And maybe now, I can get back in the habit of sharing some of the short fiction I write with you.

More short fiction available in my Mailing List

Subscribe to Ed’s Musings today.

ECHOES OF SUFFERING

A Flash Fiction story by

Ed Benjamin

In the dim glow of the hospital’s rehab center’s faded light, Charlie lay still in his bed, every spring in the mattress, seemingly poised to irritate the bedsores covering his back and legs. It seemed there was no movement he could make in the bed without his nervous system sending him painful reminders of his own fragility.

The world outside was a blur and had been hazy since his admission into the rehab facility eight days ago. Inside the facility in the nether world of darkness, tendrils of light crept in from the hallway’s fluorescence, as sounds of human suffering crept into his room, sharpened his rough edges, and rubbed them raw.

As he lay there, feeling a bit sorry for himself, a low moan drifted into his room. The sound crept inward — lasting only a second — but Charlie felt it vibrate. It was almost as if a hand slipped inside his chest, encircled his heart, extending the little finger and plucking a heart string.

As the heart string vibrated, a small tremor shook him — milking droplets of dread from his soul.

A few more moans and sobs trickled down the hallway, each one a ghostly echo that resonated as they pulled at the nerve endings of his soul. The ghostly hand tugging, fingers strumming, and pulling at his emotions like a Master violinist plying a classical tragedy in Lincoln Center.

The fluorescent lights flickered, casting shadows that danced like specters on the walls. These shadows, his silent companions, performed their wordless ballet — a reflection of the unsettled nature within his own mind. He had felt comfortable before turning out the light. Now, as the sounds played with his feelings, he felt adrift in an ocean of despair, the moans of the others like the haunting calls of distant, sorrowful sea creatures beckoning him.

In this twilight world, time seemed to stretch and warp. The distant, mournful cries of his fellow patients were a chorus of the heartbroken, a symphony of souls in pain. One trembling male voice drifted a phrase shattering the silence — “I want my wife!” — triggering within Charlie the feeling that one of the saddest songs he had ever heard had come to life, the notes hanging heavy in the air, thick within the scent of antiseptic and regret.

Charlie closed his eyes, trying to escape into sleep, but the sounds of suffering followed him into his dreams. In his mind’s eye, he wandered down endless, sterile hallways, the cries of the other patients merging with his own inner voice, creating a haunting refrain vibrating deep inside him.

But even in the depths of despair, a faint glimmer of hope flickered. Each sob, each tear shed, each emotion unearthed, was a step towards healing, a painful yet necessary part of the journey towards recovery.

In this shared suffering, Charlie felt a strange sense of kinship with his fellow patients — a bond forged in the fires of adversity.

As dawn’s first light crept through the blinds, casting a gentle glow on the sterile room, Charlie felt a quiet resolve stirring within him. He was not alone in his suffering, and in that realization, he found the strength to face another day.

The road ahead was long and uncertain, but he was ready to walk it — one step at a time — one day at a time.

The End

Thank you for reading this story and as always, please

Stay In the Light,

Ed

I also have a Mailing List.

With the help of my grand niece Georgia, I have taken the first steps towards creating a mailing list.

Thoughts, Essays, Stories, and other Musings from a Grandpa who wants to share his thoughts with the world! This Grandpa is making a comeback — hence Ed’s Musings

Universal thoughts from Stoic philosophy, stories from the Tao, and some Flash Fiction for you to enjoy. Every now and then I may suggest one of my books and stories for you to order.

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Aerial Dogfights and Near-Death Experiences: A Battle and the Aftermath!

Can a fallen hero find his way back?

Just over two years ago I published a novel on Amazon and feel gratified that over 4,500 readers have enjoyed the story to date.

And 206 readers have left ratings averaging 4.3 out of 5 stars.

To start the story, I imagined what it must feel like if a top of the line fighter pilot in the middle of an aerial combat engagement with enemy forces under went a Near Death Experience.

That was a little challenging since I have never flown an airplane, but was a maintenance officer supervising those technicians who kept the airplanes flying. I had some memories from sitting in the bar with the fighter pilots and listening to their stories. I paid attention. And after receiving some technical assistance from a damn good Air Force fighter pilot with combat missions under his belt, I was able to write the flying scenes.

That part was easier than trying to figure out how to get the young pilot out of the situation. But then a memory from my days when I was a Chief of Maintenance at a flying training base presented a solution.

In this gripping novel, I hope you will join Harry on an emotional roller coaster ride as he grapples with loss, heartbreak, and the search for redemption.

A decorated Air Force pilot, Harry’s life is turned upside down when a near-death experience (NDE) in combat leads to a medical discharge.

Stripped of his reason for living — flying — and his military family, and now a civilian, Harry spirals into despair and self destruction, drowning his sorrows in alcohol and fleeting relationships.

Harry is in the throes of near death again!

Just when it seems all hope is lost, a restored Mustang, a mysterious missing person’s case, and an unexpected encounter with Katie, a computer geek, set him on a path to redemption.

As Harry struggles to stay afloat, will he be able to confront his demons and find purpose once again?

Find out if Harry can reclaim his life and face his nemesis, Mar, in a heart-stopping aerial battle that will leave you breathless.

Read REDEMPTION today. https://amzn.to/42KClHS

#fiction #novel #experience #NDE #amazonbooks #amazon #combat #iran #warfighter #warriors

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A Memory of My Grandmother

I never knew my paternal Grandmother, but I was very fortunate to know my maternal grandma a little.

Grandma in the kitchen (Stock Image from PicMonkey)

From the time I was 9 years old until around I was 12, when she passed, I used to visit my grandparents farm in rural Alabama for about a week each summer.

I don’t remember very much but do remember hanging out in her kitchen some and watching her cook. As I remember, she was a very good cook and cooked everything from scratch. Those memories are very vague.

I do have one memory that has stood the test of time.

My grandmother was sick with a prolonged illness and her family had placed her hospital bed in the guest room where I stayed when I visited that summer.

It was in rural Alabama in the early 1950s. The days were hot. On some summer nights my grandfather and my grown uncles would sit on the screened in porch and talk as the nighttime cooled the heat of the day. One night, I fell asleep sitting on the porch listening to them. 

Rural Front Porch (Stock Image from PicMonkey)

One of my uncles carried me into the bedroom and I woke up just as he walked into the room.  I stirred around in his arms and when my uncle put me on the bed, he started kidding me saying I was awake the whole time.

He was just joking but I got upset. I remember my grandmother sitting on the side of her hospital bed calming me down and telling me my uncle was just joking.

I was a young boy and not interested in such things, but one of my biggest regrets is that I didn’t ask my grandmother more about her life.

I would have liked to have heard about her growing up, I always loved hearing Grandma’s stories about her childhood and young adulthood. I would have liked to know what life was like for her growing up in the countryside, during the early 1900s, and as a young woman finding her way in the world.

I wonder now how she met my grandfather, what their life was like.

I wonder how they survived during the Great Depression.

How did she feel about sending her sons off to war during World War II?

All her sons returned but I wonder what went through her mind when one of her sons encountered temporary blindness during ground action.

If I had heard about Grandma’s experiences, it would have not only helped me understand her better as a person, but also might have taught me valuable lessons about perseverance, determination, and the importance of family.

Three years ago, my new grandson-in-law gave me a journal to work on where I could tell him as much as I could remember about my life.

I encourage everyone to take the time to sit down with their grandparents or elders and truly listen to their life stories. You never know what kind of wisdom and inspiration you might uncover.

Plus, it’s a beautiful way to honor and connect with our loved ones.

Shameless Self-Promotion

But, in these busy times, there is another way people can learn about their Grandma.

I put together a journal which may help.

I think this journal and notebook, My Grandma: In Her Own Words, (Amazon affiliate link) is a beautifully designed gift.

It is not a fancy book.


This simple guided journal helps grandmothers record their life story with over 80 questions.
The thought-provoking questions and prompts are organized into chapters based on your grandmother’s life stages to help her record memories, experiences, treasured moments and reflections.

If you are considering a gift for Grandma, I hope you could consider this.  

Or if you are a Grandma and want to leave your grandchildren a legacy, you might want to consider this Simple guided journal to gift to one of your grandchildren.

Thank You for Reading

life lessons that can be passed down to your children, grandchildren and cherished by future generations to come.

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Locking The Barn Door After The Horse is Out – Continuing Our Survivalist “Prepper” journey

Our Progress

Escaped Horses (Stock Photo from PicMonkey)

I shared before how, as seniors, my bride and I survived through the Polar Vortex which slammed through South Texas (we live in the country outside of San Antonio) in after being trapped by ice in our subdivision and being without power for 5 days, we then went without water for 6 weeks due to numerous breaks in our plumbing.

No Power for a Week

We live in south Central Texas. This is when we learned Texas alone of all the 50 states has its own power grid. The whole state suffered the power loss, although some local utilities bounced back quicker than others.

We were without power for 5 days and trapped in our subdivision because of sheets of ice on the roads.

No Water for 6 Weeks

Our nephew brought us some drinking water in his 4-wheel drive after after 3 days.

When the roads became accessible 5 days later, we waited another couple of days and then we traveled to a friend’s house.

Our friend’s house was located near a Whole Foods supermarket. We were able to buy some groceries and lost of drinking water.

We had a swimming pool which gave us water to flush the toilets.

My Son to the Rescue

We went without water for six weeks because of multiple breaks in our plumbing.

Going without water would have lasted over three and one-half months simply because all the plumbers were overwhelmed. We called about 30 plumbers and the best any of them could do was put us on a waiting list.

We were on many waiting lists.

After six weeks, my son, who is a great handyman, flew in to help. Through an extraordinary effort, in 24 hours, he repaired around 20 breaks in our plumbing system, and got the water flowing until the plumbers could come about 2 months later.

Otherwise, we would have been without water for a total of 4 months.

Plumbers were a little busy.

And Then The The Next Year

Then, the next year, we got another round of freezing weather. Not as bad.

We did have a small loss if electricity but only for two or three days and only for a couple of hours at the time.

All the main plumbing lines held. We had water.

We had one outside faucet spring a leak.

But now we are wondering what will happen this coming winter.

Despite a lot of political wrangling, we don’t see much improvement in the state power grid.

Making The Decision To Close The Barn Door

After 2 years in a row, we are locking the barn door.

I have been checking into becoming a little more prepared.

Some Steps We Have Taken To Close The Barn Door

Our handyman wrapped pipes which had not been wrapped in 45 years.

Our contractor installed a new door on our well house and then weather proofed inside the well house.

We purchased a 90 day supply of freeze dried emergency food. (Amazon affiliate link)

We purchased a back-up generator with solar panels.

We also purchased some survival food tabs as part of out emergency food supply. These Survival Food Tabs will last 25 years and are gluten free and non-GMO (which is attractive to my bride)

Checking Out the Back Up Generator

This backup generator was one of the lower priced mid-range generator but after checking it out, I am impressed by the versatility it offers.

— I inspect it once a week and it has held a charge.

— I was pleased to find out you can charge this generator three ways.

1. Electrical outlet

2. Car battery

3. Solar panels (they provided the solar panels)

We plan to use this generator to keep our freezer going.

We are saving up for another backup generation for our refrigerator and lights. (That’s why you see Amazon affiliate links)

MAYBE GOING SOLAR

We are even talking to a company to see about installing solar on our house.

Solar Panels (Stock Image from PicMonkey)

Things are changing. The weather is changing.

Are you getting ready?

Thank you for reading.

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THE INCREDIBLE SADNESS WITHIN MY BEING — What are you and I going to do about the Uvalde School Shooting to prevent other tragedies from occurring again?

Elementary School Class — photo from PicMonkey by the author

THE INCIDENT

Just over two months ago, a suicidal 18-year-old youth walked into an elementary school 90 miles from my home and slaughtered 19 students and 2 teachers.

Last Saturday night, I watched excerpts from a 77-minute video of the tragedy taken from a security camera inside the school and a minute long video taken from outside the school as the shooter approached the school.

Then on Sunday night, I watched a 30-second or so excerpt from the body cam of two law enforcement officers.

For one of the few times in my life, I wished I could have NOT watched those videos.

Watching the school video after listening to and reading various news reports of the incident, the shock and disbelief at what I was seeing pierced my soul.

The video I watched was edited in the sense that the sounds of the children screaming were deleted, but I could see the perpetrator in the hallway who then entered the classroom, the arrival of the subsequent law enforcement officials, and hear the gunfire on the audio.

Some of the scenes ripping my soul apart as I watched the video.

THIS TRAGEDY COULD HAVE ENDED OUTSIDE THE SCHOOL.

I had originally entered some information that a law enforcement officer had seen the shooter outside the school and did not engage.

I learned after posting that this did not occur. It was Fake News.

THE INITIAL RESPONSE INSIDE THE SCHOOL

Once ensued, the security camera shows the shooter walking in a hallway, entering a classroom at the far end of the hallway, then multiple shots are heard. A statement appears saying the perpetrator fired 200 rounds in two and one-half minutes.

The video then shows the initial quick, law enforcement response. Three or four Officers then approached the classroom, guns drawn. This was entirely appropriate and consistent with what I understand their training taught them.

HEARTBREAK

Apparently, the gunman fired through the wall and the law enforcement officers scamper back down the hallway WHERE THEY REMAINED FOR OVER AN HOUR without attempting to engage.

I can’t begin to tell you how disappointed I am in those law enforcement officers.

Why they did not attempt to engage immediately after the initial engagement boggles my mind.

ANOTHER HEARTBREAKING MOMENT

In another part of the 77-minute video, you see an officer take out his cell phone. Later, you learn the call is from his dying wife who is one of the slain teachers.

In one of the body cams videos released on Sunday, you hear him asking other officers to engage. I learned he had been disarmed.

COMMENTARY

I recommend you do not watch this video unless you want your soul ripped out of your heart.

When the incident occurred, I had relied upon news reports. Like everyone else, I was horrified.

After watching the video, I felt someone had gut-punched me and ripped my soul asunder.

I felt shame for the inaction of the law enforcement officers.

My soul became even sicker as I watched EVIL, armed with an AR-15, walk down the hall of that school and enter the classroom. Then shots rang out.

I do know I will never be the same after watching the videos but will not rest until I can find a course of action that will help prevent this kind of calamity from happening again.

Will you join me in trying to find the answer?

Thank you for reading.

Ed

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“Do Not Be Afraid” – An Otherworldly Flash Fiction Story

As he stood within the trees, watching the road snaking up the hill and savoring the tart scent of the pines, a glint of light caught his eye. Looking up, he saw an object in the eastern sky.

The object hovered in the air like a silent helicopter, floating near the ridge a thousand yards away. He strained his ears and heard a slight hum. The woods were quiet with no other sounds, only the faint humming sound.

Now, he saw the vehicle clearly with clean, well-defined lines, glinting in the twilight like burnished metal. He was unable to discern any seams in the object.

There was the light. The netherworld of dusk, presaging nightfall, began to engulf the mountain. The object remained bright, a self-contained amazing slightly pulsating source of glowing light.

The craft’s movements reminded him of a leaf falling, catching updrafts as it fell. Then it settled onto the surface. The man watched as three small beings came around from the far side of the vehicle and moved to the clearing’s edge. He strained his eyes to see the creatures silhouetted against the craft; they were small, humanoid, and moved strangely with a gliding motion.

Two more beings appeared and joined in the exploration of the area outside of the craft.

Suddenly, the craft shook. First, the left side dipped a little, about three feet, as far as the man could tell; the right side soon caught up. As the quicksand took hold, the craft began to sink into the ground. Despite himself, the man chortled.

The occupants glided toward the other side of the sinking craft, disappearing.

Suddenly, the disc began to glow brilliantly, becoming more and more intense as the craft shuddered. It lifted slightly.

The light dimmed. The vehicle settled back into the bog.

Again the light glowed, becoming brighter than it had before and the ship began to vibrate, shaking the earth around it. With a plop, the craft freed itself from the bog and hovered two hundred feet in the air.

The man didn’t hear the sound; he was too busy laughing. He continued to laugh, laughing so hard his sides hurt. Tears streamed down his face.

He continued to laugh, closing his eyes, bending over, and holding his sides. He paused and opened his eyes but the craft wasn’t in view. He looked around to find it had moved to the north, about three hundred feet from him.

Apprehension rose.

“I’m scared.”

He turned in the direction of the path leading him to the safety of his house. He started to run but was unable to move.

“My legs are wooden, dead.”

No matter how hard he tried; his legs wouldn’t operate.

Fear turned to terror as he heard a voice inside his head.

“DO NOT BE AFRAID!”

The End

Thank you for reading

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Is Earth Doomed? The Lost Command – Flash Fiction

Charting the Invasion Fleet

The supreme commander lamented. One expected loss, but the losses in arriving at the target planet were significant. The supreme council divided the invasion force of 1400 ships into four modules to travel the 640 light years to the target. After leaving warp space, the command center determined that two of the modules had disintegrated in hyperspace losing 700 ships.

Entering the target solar system, one capsule spun out of control crashing into the frozen wastes of the eighth planet from the star. The remaining squadron had proceeded toward the objective, the third planet from the sun.

The supreme council had determined the target planet contained the raw materials the home world desperately required to alleviate the overcrowding which threaten their survival. Prior to launching the mission, the analysts studied the broadcasts of the microwave transmissions received in the lower communications band. These transmissions indicated that the inhabitants were on the verge of creating a viable civilization which could resist an invasion.

Once determined that this planet was suitable, the leaders in the supreme council made the decision. Before the planet evolved further, they would invade, destroy the life forms ruling the planet, and then settle and colonize it.

The mission proceeded. As the capsule prepared to disperse the remaining squadron of 350 ships into the waters of the ocean, flames erupted and only a hundred ships escaped into the Northern depths of the planet’s ocean. Radar did not detect these craft because the home world had miniaturized the attacking ships.

After some confusion, the commander was able to rally the ships into a recognizable formation and adopted the disguise of small marine crustaceans that abounded in plenty in these northern waters.

The fleet began preparations for activating the Incubula. This Incubula, once activated and dispersed through the atmosphere of the planet, would carry the seeds of destruction for every living being on the planet. Then, his fellow travelers from home could make the journey and colonize the planet in earnest.

As the commander began to prepare to give the activation orders, he noticed that the formation was becoming very ragged. He paused and gave orders for the ships to align in a chevron formation.

Suddenly, the command ship began to roll and tumbled through a fine mesh-like affair. Then the ship and all the other ships of the squadron traveled down a long dark space. The occupants of the craft began to scream as powerful acids ate through the walls of each ship dissolving it. All the ships were destroyed before the Incubula could be activated.

The mission failed.

The planet, called Earth, was saved.

The two Arctic whales swam side by side. One whale let out a powerful belch.

“What’s the matter?” one whale asked.

“Dunno, must have been a bad bunch of krill.”

The End

Krill Hunter
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I Miss Looking For My “PLUCK” – It’s Making Me “Feel So Lonesome I Could Cry

A Personal Note

My wife and I just finished binging the ten-episode Public Broadcasting System (PBS) series Country Music by Ken Burns which chronicles country music from the beginnings through the early 2000s.

It is really a fascinating 20 hour long series. While watching something resonated inside me. It reminded me that earlier in my life I had been looking for my “PLUCK” and still haven’t found it. Most importantly and sadly, I have given up looking for it.

First, let me mention my definition of “PLUCK.”

It’s when you listen to a piece of music, read a poem, read a passage from a book, watch a painting, see a memorable scene on television or a movie and something PLUCKS that core within, like a guitar string inside you that seems to connect your soul to your spinal cord, heart, gut, your nerves, your blood vessels — all at the same time. As that inner guitar string vibrates from the pluck, your mind — your soul — moves to a transcendent space — pure emotion, yet beyond emotion — this space in the world of spirit wells up within you — triggering something pure — melting the world inside you — around you — causing your soul and your insides to tremble — melting you so you either cry or wish you were crying — as that inner guitar string plucks — and the feeling vibrates — the pure emotion RULES!

And you know you just experienced something extraordinary and special.

I got reminded of the PLUCK when viewing that “Country Music” documentary series because, even though I have never been a music enthusiast, I did remember some songs which had evoked the PLUCK within me. One song, by Hank Williams. “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry,” has plucked me for years… plucks me every time I hear it … when Elvis sings it, it plucks me almost as much as hearing Hank Williams sing it … Small wonder to me the series dubbed its episode featuring Hank Williams as the “Hillbilly Shakespeare.”

The series pointed out songs by other artists which have also plucked me in the past.

When I heard those songs, I remembered that at one time, I felt there was a PLUCK inside of me, and if I kept writing my fiction, maybe someday the PLUCK would emerge. Nothing spectacular — a passage, a scene, a phrase or a couple of phrases which, when read, might pluck something inside me and if I’m lucky, someone else.

After all, I think that’s what every writer wants to do. Yeah, some write to make money and that’s what I do sometimes even when I dabble in my fiction, but deep down, my goal is to find the PLUCK, capture it and then share it. If I can do that, then stuff money.

I am a technical writer who writes a specialized form of technical writing, but my heart leans toward admiration for the creative side. At times in my smallish fiction writing career, I have come close to writing stuff which I thought might develop into a PLUCK, but I have never achieved a PLUCK.

Since COVID limited my movements, I started accepting more technical writing gigs and disavowed my creative side until it feels like I don’t have the time or energy to pursue my fiction. It doesn’t hurt I am good at the technical writing in my little niche.

In these days of inflation, I hesitate to pull back on my technical writing gig and the six figures I finally earned last year (best year ever). But I must admit the yearning, the desire, the pull — to start once again working on my fiction in search of the elusive PLUCK is very, very strong.

One part of me wants to end up like the person in the country song, “Today, He Stopped Loving Her,” where the narrative goes: “Today, Ed Stopped Looking For His PLUCK.”

That would mean I had made the decision and acted upon it to cut back on my technical writing so I could once again start searching for the PLUCK with my fiction.

Do I have it in me to refuse financially comfortable (“paid”) technical writing assignments or not?

I frankly don’t know the answer but do know I am facing one of the constant deadlines always contained with my technical writing, so for today, it is back to the wonderful world of seeking Government contracts for my clients.

I honestly do NOT have the answer as to whether I will begin that search again.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Dear reader, if you have made it this far, what about you?

Are you able to search for your own PLUCK?

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — –

Thank you for reading.

And please, always,

Stay In The Light!

Ed

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Care Repaid – Father and Son

Taking care of those who took care of us

I adapted this story from a post I saw on FaceBook.

A son took his father to a restaurant to enjoy a delicious dinner. His father is quite old and also a little weak too. While eating, food occasionally fell on his shirt and pants. The other guests watched the old man with their faces contorted in disgust,but his son remained calm.

After they both finished eating,the son quietly helped his father and took him to the toilet. Cleaned food scraps from his wrinkled face and attempted to wash food stains on his clothes, graciously combed his gray hair and finally put on his glasses.

As they left the restroom, a deep silence reigned in the restaurant. The son paid their bill but just before they leave, a man, also old, got up and ask the old man’s son , “Don’t you think you left something here?”

The young man replied “I did not leave anything.”

Then the stranger said to him,”You left a lesson here for every son and a hope for every father.”

The whole restaurant was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop!

Being there for them as they were there for us.

One of the greatest honors that exist, is being able to take care of those who have taken care of us too. Our parents and all those elders who sacrificed their lives with all their time, money and effort for us, deserve our utmost respect

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Path to Redemption – Hardened Special Operator Mercenary Finds the Secret

A “Captain X” Flash Fiction Story

A “Captain X” Flash Fiction Story

As a citizen of a European country, I left the university in my third year without a degree. I wanted to see the world and experience adventure. I joined the military service and became an Army officer in my country’s service. They trained me in Special Operations, and I served several tours in the Middle East. After ten years, I left the military and became a mercenary. The company sent me back to the Middle East.

In my country’s service and as a mercenary, I saw many immoral and illegal acts of war occurring around me. I participated in some of these acts. Initially, when I took these actions, I wasn’t proud of them. I was appalled at what I did. But, as time wore on, my spirit hardened.

I stopped worrying about the things I did, and they became second nature to me. I committed acts of violence without a second thought, or so I thought.

I betrayed people and I killed people, even though it was always in the line of duty. I had seen friends and comrades die, sometimes in my arms. My thoughts turned to revenge and sometimes I acted out of a spirit of revenge rather than military necessity.

Then, things began to creep into my dreams and haunt me in the netherworld of sleep.

So one day, listening in to a wiretap we had planted inside a Mosque, my interpreter translated the message from the In-man. The Imam spoke about God in a general sense and his lesson centered on spiritual rewards. He did not spew the message of hate — of jihad — I expected him to teach. His message was so loving, and it seemed incongruous in the middle of the military actions and conflict ongoing in the region.

I attended church services very rarely when young and I had stopped attending church services altogether when I turned 14 years of age. I was disillusioned because all I remembered from church services was the dogma the clergy kept repeating. Once or twice, the minister would say something which touched me but there was no follow through. To me, their overall message was full of fear.

That day, hearing the Imam speak of spiritual rewards and hearing him recommend to his followers to treat the “infidels” with kindness resonated within me. It reminded me of one or two messages I had heard as a youth when the minister’s message had lifted my young soul.

I realized at that moment my spirit had soared. Later, I had tea with my interpreter and asked him to repeat the message we had overheard. I do remember he had looked at me strangely at that request, but he complied.

I was intrigued. I thought that maybe this was my chance at redemption. Maybe if I could do some acts of kindness, I could make up for all the bad things I had done.

So I started doing good deeds wherever I went. I helped people who were struggling, both physically and emotionally. I gave them food and shelter, and most importantly, I listened to them. I let them know that they were seen and heard and that they mattered.

And as I did these things, I started to feel better. The weight of my past started to lift off my shoulders. I began to see the good in people again. And I realized that this was my redemption. This was how I could make up for all the bad things I had done.

I left service as a mercenary and now work on a retail store as a salesclerk. As I wait on customers, I sometimes see myself in the mirror and noticed I am smiling.

By doing acts of kindness, I found redemption.

And in so doing, I found peace.

The End

Thank you for reading this Flash fiction story.