Frontlines_004

It is one in the morning and I leave the comfort of my home in order to help you in your time of need. I put on my duty belt, my gloves, my oxygen mask, my gun, my helmet, my badge. There is no knowing if I will return.
I am dispatched to an accident, a fatal accident. I rush to the car and break the window, but the damage is done. I put the white sheet over the car only to hear the cries of your family coming from the other side.
I am dispatched to a domestic dispute with little to no information. The screams for help come from the inside of the door. I rush in the door, bullet casings flying out of my gun and onto the floor. “Shots fired!”
I am dispatched to a house fire. I suit up and rush out of the station, only to be meet with a collapsed building and a family screaming in pain. “Where did I go wrong?”
I receive orders to report to my station. My pride, my uniform, my metals and my patch accompany me. I am sat down to be told that I will deploy in a month. My only response, “Yes, sir!” My wife will have to raise my newborn on her own.
The cries, the bullets, the screaming and the newborn pain doesn’t disappear. It is one in the morning, two years, and 300 calls later. I walk into my home only to begin my battle. My lips to this bottle, my body numb, and my spouse in confusion. The cries of your family, the screams of pain, the explosion sounds of those bullets, and the tears of wife as I board my plane will not wash away. I no longer see colors but rather black and white. I feel no more, I see no more, and I speak no more.
My end of watch will soon be met.
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