I sit here night after night with these papers before me. They are all sprawled out in a semi-circle like foot soldiers protecting their general. Yet they provide no cover at all. If anything they only allow the slings and arrows of this onslaught through, piercing me with every blow.

The words never change. The information stays the same. As it reads I am another bastard child of a broken social scene. The facts of what you were and what you remain to me are clear with each and every day. And yet one more tear falls on my little army that lay before me.

I look to them every day, scouring for new revelations, but nothing comes. Not one of my little minions steps forward to take responsibility. “Show yourself you coward” I curse over and over at these tiny, insignificant, weak men. I shout and I rustle, hoping that someone will jump out, that some one will come forth. And then I realize.

Those who I have scorned are not responsible for this plight. They are not the ones who have cast this dark clod over me. No it is not the ones who I have laid out to fight that are to blam. It’s me. After all of these years of fighting and strife, after all of the blood that has been shed, after all of the battles fought, the one who is the cause for all of this malice is me.

So the noble commander steps down from his perch atop his mighty stallion and comes back to earth. He sets foot on the the same ground that he himself has been to proud to tread upon; yet was so eager to send out man after man to die for. He kneels down and begs the gods to deliver some reprieve for his wicked actions, but to no avail is he granted his wish. His enemy will not strike him down. not like this. They can see in his eyes and in the way he no carries himself that this man is deemed not guilty. His actions were not his own, but that of a man possessed. No this will not be the day that this once highly decorated man is left to die.

War torn and stricken with grief, the commander is left to ride another day. His enemy is in hope that he may not be so zealous, so callous in his accusations when tomorrow comes. He is ashamed at what he has become and fears for what he will be. Not knowing what the future holds drives him mad, but he is grateful that he is afforded the opportunity to reflect and repent, and that tomorrow will come.

The tears are steaming now, bursting forth like a river after a spring rain. There is no one to blame, no one to fight, all that is left is a journey. A long road home awaits for his men, but not for him. Even though this battle is over our soldier knows that there is nothing to go back to. There will be no ticker tape parade for this disgraced man, no wife waiting, no warm bed to lie in. He knows that it was necessary at the time if he were to wage this war, but he looks back and regrets burning that place he called home.

And he walks with horse in hand down that same path that many before him have traveled. The footprints are unfamiliar and the road signs are barely readable; he is alone. He will not let his horse carry him. No longer will her let anyone else shoulder his burden. This is his price. He alone must forge this path and discover what it means to him. Left only with his thoughts, he must decide what to do and where to go. Scared he is for what lies ahead and shameful of what at his back he puts one foot in front of the other.

So what will become of this scared broken man. What of the answers he sought in this conquest for glory. What of the life he left tattered and worn. There is no one that can say what will become of him. But the certainty that he has a tomorrow is promising. That in and of itself should be enough for any man. Unfortunately for this man it probably will never be enough.

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