The men filed around the screen, dressed in their crisp and clean uniforms. Most were injured, whether the injuries were hidden or not. Many were still within medical centers receiving treatment. Their faces were blank, still, hands clasped behind their backs as they waited for their directions. People spoke, a speech was given. They awarded medals to people.

The war in Vietnam was over, the fighters have returned.

Later in the dark, they would return home to their families, parents, spouses, children. They would go on with their lives, no longer at the threat of being killed on the field. They will remember the desperation, the fear, the pain, the loss, and they will grieve for the dead. The ones who had barely made it out will suffer in pain until they heal, or until they pass.

I sit at the edge of the old creaky porch step, waiting. He has not returned home yet, and he will not. In my hands I hold a single envelope, inside containing a letter and a medallion. He had survived war, he was going to come back, until the voice of another wounded drew him away, back to the flames, the gunshots, the pain. He lifted the other man to his shoulders, carrying him easily to the group of others that had made it out with him earlier. A single bullet, lodged itself straight through his throat. The other man, landed on the ground in range of the others to help him, making it to safety.

Inside the small house, the children sleep calmly, two boys, one four, the other nearly three. Both dreaming of waking in the morning to see their father walk through the front gate. They have yet to know that he will not ever come back to them.

It was sickening, how the people in that war can just kill each other so easily, without a second thought. They take and ruin lives, not bothering to think about their families, their loved ones, the ones waiting for them to return safely to them. Families become lost, shattered. Children go without fathers, mothers without sons, without someone to help them care for the family, for themselves. Wives, girls, lose their love, their men. It rips holes through their hearts and leaves a mark, a mark that stays forever to haunt them.

"Mama?"

Behind me my child stood, his teddy bear in one hand, the other on the screen of the door. He rubbed his eyes, sleep still holding on to him.

"Carlisle, why are you awake?" I stood, opening the door to pick him up and walk back inside. I left the envelope on the counter.

"Why aren't you asleep, mama?" Carlisle inquired, his tired eyes looking up into my own.

"Mama had a headache, I just went to get air."

Back in his room I tucked him back in the blankets next to his brother, "Now go back to sleep. Don't let me catch you up and about again." He nodded, holding the bear close to him, causing me to smile softly.

As I turned to leave, he sat up. "When's daddy coming home?"

The question, no matter how expected, still shocked me.

"It's too late for anyone to be up right now, honey, just go back to sleep."

The aged mattress squeaked in annoyance as the child wrapped in a blue quilt shifted to get more comfortable. Moonlight seeped through the window and enlightened the room, seeming to pull at the corners of the walls that now I just begin to see seem to be chipping.

I left the room instantly, leaving him for the night and I walked around, noticing each and every flaw now that I haven't really taken to notice earlier. Stains on the carpet, paint that needed touch ups, dust and clutter. It left an eerie feeling within me, as if a cold draft had just snuck in and shook my shoulders. The dim light barely left notice in the room, encasing it in silent sorrow.