In another blink of an eye, I'm home. Medals are hanging everywhere on the wall. I remember now.
I throw away the pills, I ask my wheelchair pusher to take me to the top floor of the imperial tower for a breath of fresh air. He takes me there in a metal elevator with my face in a poster on one wall.
It's been long since I've seen you General.
I tell him to go downstairs and call my wife here, it will take him at least 15 minutes. The sky is filled with fog. Flashbacks, the ringing in my right ear is back. I take a deep breath, and I stand up with all my effort. One last push, 20 meters to the edge.
Ghosts of my dead friends surround me, they smile, a smile of peace and love. The General comes up to me and says, "We attained freedom long ago, it's your time now."
I should have become a martyr long ago. I stand on the ledge, 60 floors beneath me, the fog covers up everything. I take one final breath; close my eyes and I lean to the open sky. I'm sorry Martha.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD they call it. They say I had it. I never believed them, I still took the pills, better safe than sorry. The General nods at me with agreement in his smile and eyes.
I jump.
The ground is the canvas and I'm the artist.