He woke up and took cover. His shirt was drenched in sweat and his breathing laboured. As he heard the gunshots again closeby, he groped in the dark for his gun but couldn’t find it.
A body lay on the bed. Was that a friend or foe? Where was that damned gun?
The body spoke, “Honey, come back on bed. The war got over five years back. You’re home.” Her voice was calm as always. But she was hesitating from touching him, afraid of his reflex response.
He knew her. Then her face came back in focus as, once again, she pulled him back from his personal hell, just like every night…
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 