OUT WITH THE BAD, IN WITH THE GOOD

To my disgust, I couldn't stop from recalling the horror I had just dreamt.

My senses told me that I was now in a quiet room with solid white walls, but campaigns in Saigon and Laos punished my mind with graphic memories that would never fade.

My battered sleep had replayed visions of lying in the deep mud of a swamp, concealing myself beneath the corpses of my comrades. The ruthless enemy above skewered bodies with bayonets and knives, assuring to get those who just pretended to be dead. After seven hours of breathing through holes in the carcasses on top of me I emerged from the muck and located my troops in the surreal hell of the jungle, only to be put immediately back into circulation. I spent that night in a bunker with the remains of my best friend splattered across my chest.

"Honey?"

I jumped. It was my wife, Emily. In her arms was cradled our 2-month-old daughter, Sarah. I looked into my little girl's angelic face and was amazed how this world could possibly host such innocence when realms of insane terror were just as real.

"Those memories are strong," said Emily, grabbing my arm, "but together the three of us are going to build even stronger ones, newer ones, good ones."

As if understanding this, Sarah seemed to smile at me and coo like a dove. Emily was right. Creating memories with these two before me was the only cure I could fathom.

THE END

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