Running, in darkness. Nowhere to go but forward. My wife, in my arms as I run. Total darkness. A word, from behind.I turn around, to try and see who my pursuer is. A shot, like at a carnival, barrels at me. A pain rips through my shoulder, as I drop my wife.

I wake up, it is still night. These re-occurring night-mares. They keep me in the past, when we were caught by the Soviet rush. My home town lay in ruins, as I put my wife in my truck so we could get away. A tank moved in front of us, and opened fire, hitting the passenger side, ripping it off the 4x4 completely. I got out, and rushed to where she now lay, dead. I lift her up, and carried her to the house. As I did, someone spoke, a familiar voice. The hairs on the back of my neck shoot up, but I turn anyway. A shot from behind just as I finish turning, the slug rips into my shoulder, making me drop my wife, and fall in the process. I lift myself, only to see the same tank destroy my house, then move on.

Years have passed, yet the same night-mare still occurs. 
I get out of bed, putting on my slippers. This bed, which my wife had shared with me, years ago, is all I salvaged from my burning home. The past, if only the past were the future, I could prevent her un-timely demise. But, they are dreams, mere dreams which I must overcome, if I wish to see the end of this war. I go out-side, and see Allied soldiers moving about. They came here to stop the Soviets right here, in my new town. I wonder what they think of this war. Their fighting it, not the politicains, them. The G.I. who fights in the streets, or what used to be streets, to keep the soviets at bay, wherever they can.

I move among the soldiers, as if I was one of them. 'If only I had a weapon, she'd be here,' I think to myself. If only. Those words mean nothing. Why do I even bother, living isn't worth the pain I have suffered, let alone the loss of life I've seen. I decide I need more rest, if I'm gonna be able to leave the city. IF. Little words for as little man, how interesting. I shuffle up stairs, and find my room. I remove my slippers, and slip into bed. I fall asleep.

Darkness envelopes me. I look around. What for, I don't know. I see the burning truck. I see myself, but how could that be, I'm right here. I move towards the other me as he picks up a woman, who goes limp in his arms. 
Someone calls out. I turn, before he does. It's not a soldier, it's my father! I turn to yell at the other man, but a shot muffles my screams. The man jolts, and falls, the woman falling out of his arms. I turn back to my father, who then gets riddled with bullets as he tries to get out of the way of a column of conscripts.
This dream, why is this dream so different. 

I wake up. Morning rays of sun shine through the blinds, making me squint my eyes. I hear shots in the distance, then silence. I guess this dream ends today. This dream. A dream that has haunted me, but can't any longer.

I go out onto the streets, and lie down. This dream has consumed me, ate me for all I'm worth, then some. It has stopped me from living out my life. I will stop this dream.

A tank moves in front of me. A soviet tank, bearing the same numbers as the one in my dream. I look up, and see the gunner looking at me in an estranged fashion. He remembers me. He looks, questioning my actions with his eyes. I close mine, then a shot. 

The dream ends here.

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