I was driven to the publicly available mental health services clinic. Many people suffering hardships took up residency in the waiting room days on end. I met with a bitch. As I recounted aspects of my former soldierly duties it became clear that she was a mouth-gaper. I tell her the story of my daily ordeals in civilian life:

     I stepped out for a walk with a specific destination in mind, yet I recall not what the intention was. I left the flea ridden room behind me as I marched along the edge of the traffic strewn asphalt sea. A young man walked towards me. I suddenly became aware of my knife, his throat, his ribs…the knife in his side that I twisted and torqued on, his blood flowing forth. Fragments of his mangled jugular on the pavement, his blood upon my face, jagged teeth marks upon his throat as he collapsed to the ground…he passed me and I continued on my way.

Her jaw hung low, in silence she stared. Words had escaped her. She knew not what to say. In time she began to regain composure. She had no recommendations, so she asked me what I needed as if I somehow knew. I gave thanks for her time and silently departed the ward.