Siren Song

Hello, Man.

Sometimes in the night all you can do to get to sleep is to think about your life, and yet we can all agree that that is the one thing we would rather never do until the end of time.

Four years ago I was a soldier, and four years ago I had to start over. I never formally withdrew from the special-forces nor did I ever let any of my superiors into my new life. However, they always find you. They always find you because they have a selfish need to deliver that dishonorable discharge in spite of all you did for your men and national defense. Besides simply disappearing and abandoning my station, I betrayed my brothers in arms and should never feel entitled to the veteran title. Or so they told me.

I didn't care. They sent us there to die. The blood is on their unfeeling hands.

In Washington State they left me alone. The climate was suitable and I found work in a small hospital as a nurse after earning basic licenses. They were putting me through school and it gave me a purpose to feel useful.

Cameron and Dakota reached out to me after a few months of hunting me down. The phone calls were quiet and we never said anything concerning the sirens. Eventually they stopped calling but Cameron would drop an update email once in a while. He is getting married soon and I am happy for him.

I roll over in bed and Nova and Rhine reoriented their furry bodies into the crook of my legs and torso. I found the German Shepherd puppies in a box on the highway on my way to Washington. Since Aille, I found myself feeling obligated to save concrete living things, not just the ones my sergeants assured me I was saving.

My clock read after midnight and I stared at the red glow of the numbers. Rhine sat up, her ears attentive, and pointed her muzzle towards the window. I looked and saw the shadow of the tree beyond my window waving gently. It was January and the frosted glass confused her. I gave her a pat and she settled enough to rest her head on my leg but nothing less. She continued to watch.

A minute passed and a faint scraping and squeaking against the windowpane riled Rhine and Nova together. They did not bark. Rhine whimpered with anxiety and Nova jumped over me to watch the window. Groaning, I rolled out of bed onto my feet and crossed the small space to the window and blinked the blur of natural moonlight out of my eyes. I examined the panes until I noticed the upper right corner. In a loopy, messy script in a hand unfamiliar to writing were the words Hello, Man.