He Turned Cold

The hounds of war had been leashed once more. Despite the owner's blatant disregard for their well-being,

these poorly domesticated and bewildered creatures made their way back home.

Some limping, some grinding their teeth from the idea of the atrocities they had to endure.

All of them were scarred, if not physically then deep down in their hearts and minds.

After endless adrenaline dumps, bloodshed, artillery fire and the feeling of death

creeping around every corner, these hounds were finally able to adopt a human form again.

This, however, proved to be a Herculean feat for most.

Society was far different from the trenches and camps where wrath reigned supreme.

These hounds were now muzzled and these muzzles resembled human faces down to the last molecule.

These men now realized that the horrors, mass killings and torture that occurred in what

appeared to be hell, was done by- and to- other humans. The demonstration of hatred,

pure and true, sent these poor souls into a downward spiral that could rival Dante's venture.

Some were too stubborn to admit it, no matter how bad the night terrors got.

The sobs of mothers being torn from their children by uniformed demons haunted

them until their last days. At least those that were lucky enough to make it back

somewhat human and not just as poppy fertilizer. Every moment asleep felt like

a voyage back to hell. That hell now did not have a name such as Auschwitz or Dachau.

It was within each and every one of the men that have fought through its blazing caverns

and have danced in the flames of war.

These men will live to tell of the atrocities that have happened and have yet to happen.

They will tell the tallest tales of the soul's decay but also those of human courage and honor.

We will look to them with love and adoration as they are our own flesh and blood that

have fought to protect us and our basic human rights. They may appear to be the happiest

on this world and their smiles may warm our hearts in a way that only theirs can.

They cherish the ones they love while hell and its blazes are far.

Once they enter slumber, the flames, echoing laughter and

images of horrors untamed by reason all come rushing back

as a dark mistress with a twisted sense of lust.

However, no matter how bad the endeavor, nothing was worse than the blood-chilling sobs of

mothers, sisters, wives and daughters of the men that were now in a better place.

As the young Eliezer marched back from the capital of Hate to the gleaming pastures

of his beautiful Poland, never did he suspect that the horrors of war were just the

first chapter in his long and seemingly endless book of life.

Where stood the house he had helped to build were now only charred remains.

No mother to greet him with a warm bowl of borscht. The laughter of his

three younger sisters, the angelic smiles he had sworn to protect by

chipping away at his soul, were all gone. The warmth and radiating love of

the hearth of his home was now nothing but an echo of death and fear.