The man I love

Kieran was plagued by the spoils of war, and the persistent cowbell presented to him by women, born as US citizens. He lived between a world of absurdism, and another reality, a kid in a candy store. Resentful about the spoils of war at himself. He was born around the time of the USSR, or around the issues arising from Chernobyl. Born in New Orleans, and unaware of winter culture, like all good Southerners. He inherited a long line of emotional turmoil, and toxic guilt from veterans through the bloodline of his family. All veterans who have fought in wars, never able to live up to the juggernaut label from their foreign friends.

He was always the number one suspect on the tiny island for any crime. Th island is filled with drama triangles, and gossip. His attachment style was that of an 80-year-old Frenchman, very aloof and avoidant, emotionally crippled by the incessant cost of oil. Perhaps it was his pale skin that made things a bit more difficult for him to be understood by his comrades. His words fell on deaf ears if the person had not lived overseas or traveled extensively. Many could not hear his point if they had never served, or perhaps it was his glasses that caused him to appear as if he were treated indulgently. That being true, to him, and false to your everyday freeloader, this was his crux.

His blue eyes and tall height made him an eligible bachelor for the ladies, even though there were times when his name was dragged through the mud. He handled it calmly enough. He worked as a Math teacher, teaching children about all of the formulas, and arithmetic necessary to succeed in a free world. To exist as a free thinker, was his gift to us all, from his service as a boy. Sadly, this unseen fact hurt him every second, when this gift was just not enough to many.

The children chastised him daily over the cost of oil, the American problem. The confused youth yelled at American problems of religion and capitalism. The kids ashamed to be so fortunate in the US, and confused.

He felt guilty for this, and he needed that constant reminder to continue his fight, from a communist foe. This foe was a good reminder of his identity, and was placed by God, to remind him of the freedoms that he fought for from the beginning. Being able to fight as a soldier with a full belly, while the enemy had their homes destroyed, families lost , and starvation pervasive, left him with mental twists and a depression that made time pass excruciatingly slow. Especially when he was caught standing free and healthy.

It ate away at him every day, a dull pain that seeped underneath his skin. Being a veteran he should have known that this would backfire. He created his prison of freedom, guilt, and shame of freedom. He could never stay with one job too long, and women were just another way to tell time.