20 years have passed, the government has called me for a ceremony, what for? They say I did something very brave.
I'm on a lifted platform, my legs don't work anymore, I'm dragged around on a wheelchair everywhere I go, I'm miserable. The announcer doesn't tell his name, he expects me to know. He says that 12,000 people are gathered here due to me.
Are they the families of all the soldiers I've killed in my life? Are they ghosts coming back to haunt me for what I've done?
Flashbacks. I see dead bodies lying everywhere, bloodshed all across the barren field, the air smelling of death and tears.
And nine, I get shot in the head.
I hear screams, screams of joy? They're all cheering for me. "For capturing our long-lost city with a beautiful past." Said the announcer. A city can't be 50 meters, might be a misunderstanding.
He grabs a medal and a badge from a red tray, "Thank you for everything, Field Marshal." He says as he pins the badge to my green coat and gives me the medal. Everyone cheers, they love me.
My wheelchair pusher tells me to eat my medicine, I read the label and it says Alzheimer's capsules. What am I forgetting, and what all have I done?
My wife, Martha, looks at me with a proud smile, I smile back not knowing why the ceremony is taking place and why this badge of honour has been given to me.
I still hear the gunshots in my right ear.