In_Darkness_Dwells - Sex Stories

In_Darkness_Dwells

... father would either."

"Maybe not, but I think he'd be proud. You were very impressive last night, I mean it."

She smiled. "Thank you. I'm proud of you as well. You know, you never explained why you were so willing to get back into the fight. You said you quit, then after putting a bullet in that thing's chest, you rejoined Volker and me like it was completely natural. What changed your mind?"

Sam sighed and emptied his glass. "My grandfather fought in the American Civil War, and I was raised on his stories. He was just one soldier in a humungous war, but he helped bring the country back together and end slavery. I always wanted to be like him, so when America entered the Great War, I was ready.

This was to be the war to end all wars, and I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted to say I helped win the most incredible fight in the history of mankind and that I accomplished something like my grandfather. All those months of fighting, of suffering in those trenches, of watching my guys get mowed down and blown to smithereens, I kept telling myself that it was all worth it, that it was leading to something incredible. I was a fucking idiot.

You can't see it under all these bandages, but that cut Danut left is not the worst wound I've received. Have you ever heard of the Meuse–Argonne offensive? It was one of the war's last battles and a giant bloody clusterfuck for the Americans. After weeks of fighting, I got caught in a blast from a grenade and ended up with a ...

... chest full of shrapnel. I should have died, but my friends dragged me back to safety, and the field doctors went to work on me, carving out every piece of metal. I was conscious the whole time, able to feel every cut and suture. I remember praying to God, begging Him to either steady their hands or let me die, but I pulled through and woke up just like this in a military hospital.

By the time I was healed, the war was over, and we were all going home, and all I could think was, "that's it?" All the blood that we spilled, all the money these countries spent, all the land scorched and poisoned, what was it for? Who did I kill that needed to die? What did I fight for that was worth protecting? What noble cause almost took my life? But the only good thing to come out of this war was the end of the war itself. All those men killed and died for nothing more than an eventual stop to the killing and dying.

I decided I couldn't accept it. I couldn't go home with nothing but stories of anguish and survival. I didn't come to Europe just to suffer. I didn't go through all that pain just to say, "this happened to me." I came here to accomplish something, so I could say, "this happened because of me," and I wasn't going to leave until then. So, I sent a letter to my family saying I wasn't ready to come home yet and decided to travel around these lands, searching for something meaningful to make everything worth it, but nothing I did felt right. Every time I did some good deed, I'd ...