Chapter II: Job
He was a soldier.
That's it.
Not a hero.
Not broken.
Just someone who showed up.
They paid him.
He followed orders.
Clean rifle. Clean bed. Clean lies.
He didn't love it.
Didn't hate it.
It was something to do.
He was good at routines.
Good at silence.
Good at not asking why.
There were places.
Hot. Loud. Dust everywhere.
People spoke in words he didn't understand.
He didn't need to.
He had a job.
You go in.
You do the thing.
You come out.
Sometimes people died.
Sometimes they didn't.
That's how it goes.
He didn't collect medals.
Didn't want to.
Didn't stay long enough.
One day it ended.
He packed up.
They sent him home.
He went.
Then came the questions.
What do you do now?
What were you before?
He answered once:
"I was in the military."
The room went quiet.
The job was gone a week later.
No reason.
He got smart after that.
Told them he worked warehouse.
Said he fixed vending machines.
Made up a brother-in-law.
It worked.
For a while.
But it always slipped.
They always asked too much.
He always said too little.
Now he doesn't say anything.
Doesn't apply.
Doesn't explain.
The uniform's in a box.
He doesn't look at it.
He doesn't burn it either.
It wasn't sacred.
It was just cloth.
Being a soldier was just a job.
And like any job, it ended.
He wakes up the same time every day.
Makes his bed tight.
Cooks the same eggs.
Walks the same street.
The job is gone.
But the habits stayed.
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen3h.Co