Ptsd

He took down his gun today, a telescopic rifle made for hunting. From high atop the rise the people down below appear so close and focused through the 'scope. He spends all day breaking down the gun and re-assembling it, polishing each part until it gleams. He fits the telescope, lifts the weapon to his shoulder for just another look. He'll bide his time... The time has come, his palms are moist. In the cross-hairs there are children, lots of children dressed in Santa suits. Where are the men with rifles on their backs? ...the men he was expecting? A half-hour passes. He slowly lowers the rifle and puts it back into its case. Another half-hour passes and he stumbles down the stairwell to the street, his mind confused and torn. Crossing a bridge he stops to hurl the case into the river. He wanders slowly home to his studio apartment, his haven of forgetfulness, his pressed and perfect Ranger uniform, and wonders why he just cannot stop crying. He took down his gun today...