Each day an older man, in his 70’s, walks these halls, touching, cleaning, and praying at their base. The inscriptions read of the names lost at war. Each day he lays a hand upon the third column down on the right. No one knows his name, no one cares to ask. He is a man haunted by his past and survivors quilt eats away at his soul.
He was sick that day, so many years before. His company commander ordered him to sick bay to receive treatment for the fever he could not break. He felt so useless laying there; while his brothers patrolled the vast mountains of the North and South Korean border. Why did I have to get sick? He thinks to himself. Any other day, he would be first in line for the troop movement; but not today.
Some say he was lucky for missing out on the action. He feels different. He sent his brothers out alone without his protection on their six. How was he to go home and face his family without them by his side? So now he patrols those hallowed halls, keeping watch over that third column; the column which holds the names of his brothers. Waiting for the day when he is called home to see them again.
Creatively Combined 