Sage wrapped a towel around his messy locs, the sounds of his bathroom slippers squeaking on the tile floor. He had just got out the shower and washed his hair to do sort of a pre-pamper before his flight in five days.

He didn't do his hair often, but didn't want to go back to the states with his wild new growth all over the place. He didn't really know how to look professional, but he would at least try. He was informed by the release counselor that doing something with his hair would be a great first step, and he wanted to take offense to that but couldn't even deny the truth.

It was currently four in the morning and he was the only one awake. It seemed like he barely slept anymore. He hated what he saw whenever he closed his eyes so he tried not to do it too much. Plus, being up at the crack of dawn was his favorite part of the day. It allowed him to-attempt to-get his thoughts together to get him prepared for the day.

Pressing the button on his hand-held radio, the sounds of old school gospel began to flow lowly through the speakers. Gospel wasn't his favorite genre of music, but there wasn't many choices in the middle of war country, Afghanistan.

As he began to detangle the roots of his locs, he could hear a toilet flush from the stalls but paid no mind to it. Morning rounds didn't start for another two hours so he didn't need to worry about anyone being up and walking around like he was.

To retwist his hair, Sage used gel, a comb, and bobby pins to restore the fresh look of his locs. He didn't have a wide range of products to choose from since everyone in his platoon had their heads shaved. He had to walk over to the women's camp to see if they could let him borrow any extra.

He was the only man that still had his hair, but when he first joined he had to get shaved bald just like the others. After awhile of him resisting the routinely haircuts, the Major just let it go because of the status of Sage's father. He hadn't cut his hair since he was 19, and he was now 26 with hair that went past his shoulders. It would be even longer if it wasn't loc'd.

It took him an hour and a half to finish his whole head, and his arms were sore as hell afterwards. Luckily he wouldn't be participating in drill today-or anymore, for that matter. He did have to go to a follow-up meeting with the release counselor for a mandatory check-out survey at 8am though.

"Mornin' boy. Lookin' good." One of the older guys in the platoon, James, complimented Sage's fresh style.

"I heard you getting out soon. That true?" Another man asked, younger this time and went by the name of Tiny even though he weighed at least 280 pounds.

Sage rose his eyebrow to question where he'd heard that from, but all Tiny did was shrug. It definitely was getting around camp and most of the men were upset that their favorite Sergeant would be getting discharged soon.

"Well, good luck out there man. You deserve it." Tiny tossed his dry-off towel over his shoulder, walking towards the shower stalls.

"Sure do. You'll do good out there too, don't worry 'bout nothin'. Major 'nem pretty good wit' setting you up once you're out. Take it from me." A third man chimed in, who had been honorably discharged before but had re-enlisted two more times in his lifetime.

"And, you finally get to have some pussy!" One of the youngest private ranks came near the sinks where Sage now stood, and Sage frowned at his choice of words.

"That's all you talk about. I wouldn't be surprised if you played with your gooch while everybody else be sleep." Somebody else said, making Sage realize it was now time to dismiss himself as the two began to childishly-and playfully-bicker with one another.

"Bitch what in da' hell? Where does that correlate???" Was the last thing he heard as he walked out of the bathroom area and over to his bunk.

He put the things he used for his hair on his small bedside table, reminding himself to drop it back off to Regina when he came back from his meeting. He then sat down on his freshly made bed, picking up one of the books he'd been reading.

It was called Rich Dad Poor Dad, and was basically a book about financial literacy. He normally read scientific fiction or fantasy novels, but was trying to educate himself more about life outside of the military; starting with the value of money since apparently that's what everyone's life revolved around.

As bad as he was dreading leaving, he was low-key eager to see what regular life was like. A life where he didn't have to wake up to gunshots or be on call to throw grenades at any given time sounded much better than the life he lived now.

He wondered what it was like to have a pet. He'd never had one, even before his dad enlisted in the military when Sage was only nine. He was thinking about getting a cat. Dogs were loud and annoying while cats maintained themselves. It seemed like one would fit him well.

He wondered what Chicago looked like now. It was similar to the army-except illegal-when he left at the age of seventeen. After ten years, he hoped it had become much safer. It was winter now, so he knew it was probably covered in snow.

He wondered how much technology had thrived since 2011. He remembered having an iPhone 4S back then, in the color blue. Everyone at school was jealous when he showed it off, assuming he was rich when actually he'd just stole it from a man on the train.

He wondered how his grandma was doing. She never wrote him back when he used to write her, so after a few years of trying, he just stopped. He understood why though; he took her through hell and back when she took him in. It had been years since then though, and he was no longer that reckless wild child. He wondered if she was dead.

All he had been doing lately was wondering, ever since he was informed about being discharged. There was so much he didn't know, because for the last ten years, the military had been all he'd known about. He never thought to visit the states during off-duty season because there wasn't anything there for him. Now, he wished he would've.

Sage would basically be flying blind five days from now. It scared him to think about. He would have to learn about everything by himself; from the way the world works now to actually re-learning himself. He couldn't even state his favorite color if someone asked. It was that bad.

The clock struck 8am before he even realized, and soon enough, he was walking through the main building of the military base. Inside that office was the infirmary, a chapel, chow hall, commissary, a control center, and a small recreational center.

Unlike other military bases, there were no schools, banks, gyms, shopping centers or entertainment facilities. Most military bases were just like any other small town you'd find somewhere in the states, but not at Camp Bondsman-where Sage was currently stationed at.

Camp Bondsman was in the city of Bagram, Afghanistan, and was luckily still controlled by the United States government. As soon as you stepped on the other side of the tall electric fence, you were in Taliban territory-whom controlled mostly the whole country of Afghanistan, and even parts of surrounding countries.

The Taliban were so dangerous that even the airports were shut down-so once you were stationed at Camp Bondsman, it would be awhile before you could leave because there was only one singular flight every six months; which meant the families of active duty soldiers couldn't be housed there unlike other military bases.

Afghanistan was probably the saddest country to exist. The government had totally collapsed and it was now completed under the control of the Taliban forces. Even President Ghani himself had fled his own country, causing all hope of peace being restored to go to waste.

More than 20 million people starved everyday-including over three million children who were at risk of dying from severe malnutrition. Women weren't allowed to go to school or work, and all men had to join the Taliban forces against their will-sometimes even being forced to kill their own families-or themselves-when they went against the Taliban regime.

The conditions were truly unbearable, and honestly, Sage wasn't sure why President Biden hadn't withdrawn all U.S. personnel from the terrible country yet. The amount of soldiers who suffered from PTSD while still being active duty should've been convinced him to do so-or at least make an effort to.

Over the course of Sage being stationed at Camp Bondsman, more than twenty thousand U.S. men had died-which was more than half of how many had been stationed in the first place. All the others left on ships and the semi-annual flights, and now, just over three hundred men in active duty remained.

It was such a sad, sad country.

"You're not listening to me, are you Sage?" Annabelle, the release counselor, peered at him over her square-framed glasses.

Snapping from his deep thoughts, he shook his head no. He had been there for about ten minutes now and hadn't heard anything she'd said. It was so easy for him to tune people out that sometimes he didn't even realize he was doing it.

"Probably wouldn't matter to you anyway," she chuckled at his seemingly bored silence, "let's just get this out the way, shall we?"

Annabelle shuffled a small stack of papers to make sure they all lined up, then picked up her black ink pen. It was Sage's favorite type of pen, the kind that sort of wrote like a very thin marker but didn't bleed through the paper-formally known as a felt tip pen.

He watched as she wrote his name across the top of the first paper, more so focused on how the ink flowed out the pen with ease and how she was able to produce even and bold lines. It glided smoothly over the paper, spelling out Sage Mazari Bennett.

For a minute he'd forgotten he even had a middle name. He hadn't said or heard it in so long. Hell, he barely ever said his first name. He missed when his grandma would call him from outside, yelling 'Sage Mazari!' loud enough to where the whole block could hear her.

"Alright then, first question. How are you?" She trailed her eyes to meet his again, though his had never left hers. His stare was cold and dark, but he never meant for it to come off that way. He rarely noticed when he was staring, he just didn't like looking at too many things at once so he usually focused in on one thing.

Hmm, how was he? He didn't know. Was there even a correct way to answer that question? He hadn't been asked it in awhile; mental health wasn't spoken about enough in the military-which probably explained why suicide rates were so high. Luckily he hadn't made himself a statistic. Yet.

Suicide crossed his mind often though, he just didn't have the strength to go through with it. He wished he would've been killed in combat, but unfortunately, the Taliban didn't have the greatest aim so he was just stuck living every day the same way.

He wondered about all the things he hadn't been able to do yet, like; having a pet, visiting Hawaii like he'd always wanted to do, that childhood dream of joining the NBA, and even having a girlfriend.. maybe kids too. He had a lot to live for, and he would try as hard as he could to keep going for as long as possible.

"Fine." He answered with a low voice, not holding much emotion.

"When I asked you that when you first enlisted, you were pretty excited to be joining the military. Have those views changed?" She asked, seeing his previous answer on his file.

"Yup."

"In a bad way?"

"Yup."

"Do you want to talk about why?"

"Nope."

"Are you going to give me one word answers the whole time?"

"Maybe." His held tilted towards the left, chuckling as he watched her huff. If she wanted him to give a full response then she needed to ask open ended questions, not questions that could be answered with one word.

"If you hadn't joined the military when you were 17, where do you think you would be right now?" She asked him, as if she had read his mind. Now the cat had his tongue.

"What's the relevance of that?" He returned a question, causing her to give him a stale face.

"Just answer it Sage." She chuckled, finding it amusing how unintentionally difficult he was. He questioned everything.

"I would be dead. Next question." He answered, never removing his eyes from hers. His answer and the way he stared was definitely scaring her but she wouldn't speak on it.

When Sage stayed in Chicago, he got into fist fights with older men that picked on him almost every day. He was always that quiet but angrily aggressive child, and it was way too easy to provoke him-so they did, only to get their ass handed to them by a kid.

He remembered one particular fight when he was 14, he had got into it with a man twice his age and left him bleeding on the curb. The day after that, Sage was supposed to be in his first targeted drive by. That man and his friends were planning to kill him, but luckily, he wasn't home that day.

The violence went on too. The more times he fought, the more he was targeted by gang members in Chicago. Some wanted him to join them, and others wanted him dead. Sage didn't like street life though, and had never considered him a gangster. He just didn't tolerate disrespect or nitpicking, no matter the age.

If he wouldn't have enlisted, he definitely would've been in jail or dead right now though. The violence would've never stopped because there was no one to keep his head on straight and put him back on the right track. His grandma had tried, but even she was too warped up in the streets herself-how could he ever take advice from her when she popped pills like no tomorrow?

His dad was gone most of the time too. If he wasn't stationed, he was supposedly too busy with work to where he couldn't make time for Sage. He didn't even remember his father ever having a job. It was just an excuse that Suge used so that he didn't have to be a dad.

Sage's mom died during birth, so he never even got to meet her. He liked to think she would've been the one to keep him in check. He'd heard plenty of stories about her from some of the older women in the neighborhood he grew up in. She sounded wonderful. It often made him upset that he never got to see for himself.

"If you're not going to listen to me, let me know so that I can just toss this in the trash." Annabelle frowned over at him, the wrinkles in her face becoming even more obvious. She was too old to still be here. It looked as if the wind blew too hard, it would turn her into dust.

Annabelle had been here much longer than Sage, and you could tell just by looking at her. A woman her age should be home with her grandchildren, knitting hats and cooking dinner. Not signing death certificates and preparing burials for dead soldiers, oh, and doing checkout surveys.

"Sorry." He mumbled, figuring he had tuned her out again. It truly wasn't purposeful.

"How many people do you think you've killed while in combat? Roundabout.." She added the last part, assuming he wouldn't have an exact number.

"One thousand eight hundred and two." He spoke just as soon as she finished her question. He counted every body he'd ever dropped. It kept him awake at night too.

As much as he enjoyed the distraction being in the military gave him, he hated the actual job they were trained to do. At retail stores you were trained to stock shelves, take money and count change, help customers, and ring in items. Being stationed in Afghanistan, you were trained to kill. That was your only objective.

He killed dozens and dozens of Taliban fighters, which he didn't particularly mind due to the things they did to their own people, but still, he wasn't God. He didn't like playing God either. What right did he have to kill anyone, regardless of what they'd done?

There were even times that he had to kill children. The Taliban trained kids to fight with them against their families will, and ultimately sacrificed them in battle as well. Sage remembered giving the order to drop white phosphorus and a grenade on a known building for Taliban ammunition and weaponry, only to find out the building was full of over five hundred families, including over a hundred or so kids.

He cried for hours later that night. There was nothing he regretted more in that moment, and even now. Those people were innocent, but were killed over an order that he gave. He should've checked the building first. He should've made sure the coordinates were correct. He should've gave a warning. There were so many 'should've's'.

Thinking about all that he'd been through while being in the army, he now couldn't wait to finally leave this dreadful place. It would be better off without him, and he hoped he would better off without it.

This chapter was so nice. The ideas are flowing!! 😆