The floor was cold, and if he hadn’t been a moment ago, he was awake now. Pulling himself over to the dresser, he stared at his reflection in the mirror for a moment. He hardly recognized himself from the man he had been less then four years ago.

The lines on his face had become more prominent since then. His once bright eyes seemed dull, almost lifeless had it not been for the deep sadness and misery hidden behind them. He had seen more in his short life then most should ever have to see.

Around his neck still hung the metal dog tags, he never took them off. Private Richard Reiben. The name engraved into the thin sheets of metal. Nothing amazing, nothing special... Simply his name and the number that had once belonged to his regiment, on the other was the general medical information.

Closing his eyes, he had once again been awoken by the images. The memories that seemed to creep back into his mind without warning. He glanced at the clock momentarily.

3:32

Too early to be awake. Casting one last glance at himself in the mirror, he turned and left the small bedroom. Making his way into the kitchen, he pulled a bottle out of the fridge, popping off the cap and sinking into one of the wooden kitchen chairs.

His gaze fell on the calendar. It was a month behind; he never bothered to keep up with it. It was October now. Just over a year since that hell had ended. Since he had watched friends, brothers, die. He had seen men he had known all his life fall, watched as bullets ripped through them mercilessly.

He had imagined it would happen to himself, more then once. Time after time of seeing others that he had loved die had made him almost wish it on himself.

Taking a large gulp of the drink, he relaxed slightly as he could feel the fire pour down his throat. It felt good, if that’s what you would classify as ‘good’. Looking at the clock once more, he stood.

Walking slowly, he moved over to one of the kitchen drawers, pulling it open. It took him a minute, but he pulled out a piece of paper after a bit of searching. It was a list. Names, phone numbers, a few short notes were scribbled over it.

Taking a deep breath, he read over the list. He hadn’t looked at it for over a year, right after the end of the war. Singling out one phone in particular, he reached for the phone. He figured if he was up this early, he might as well find someone else to talk to... someone who would understand.

Dialing the number, he slowly sat back down, listening to each ring. He almost gave up, it had been five rings. No one waits that long... he would simply have to sit alone, let his thoughts wander and hope he could keep away the images.

Then there was a soft click and a murmured “Hello....?”