UNLEASHED

The young man was pacing nervously back and forth down the hallway of the Shodair's Children Hospital. The light blue walls were covered with colorful and cheerful children's drawings, every single examination's room door painted in pastel shade, one for each of the rainbow colors. A woman, almost certainly his wife, was sitting on one of the chairs, staring at an indigo door. The plate on it reads


As the door opened, a blonde little tot rushed out of it, running straight into her mother's arms. His contagious big smile worked a miracle, washing away in the blink of an eye the concern from her face. Her husband came closer soon enough, ruffling the kid's head while resting his hand on the woman's shoulder. The doctor, a tiny short-haired brunette left the room, holding her hand behind her back.

DOCTOR ZALUSKI: Ethan, you forgot your prize for being a good patient!

She handed him a colored lollipop, the best reward a kid could ask for. He unwrapped it, obviously tossing the paper on the floor with the typical nonchalance of a 8 years old.  The doctor was looking at him, kindly smiling before turning her attention to the couple waiting for the response.

ETHAN'S DAD: So doc? What's wrong with Ethan? Is he sick?

DOCTOR ZALUSKI: Your son has a condition called Synesthesia.

Maybe it was the fancy word, maybe the cold and professional, almost detached tone in her voice, but the news caught them off guard. They exchanged a quick, worried glance before looking back at the doctor.

ETHAN'S DAD: Is... Is that serious doc?

His wife was now standing next to him, caressing her pregnant belly.

ETHAN'S MOM: Is it genetic?

DOCTOR ZALUSKI: No to both. Synesthesia is a neurological condition. Although little is known about how it develops, all the studies concur that there are no physiological or genetic factors leading to it. Nor there is a way to treat it.

ETHAN'S DAD: Are you telling us that our son has some mental disease and there's nothing we can do about it?

His voice cracked.

DOCTOR ZALUSKI: Just look at him...

By that time, Ethan already stopped playing. He was standing next to his mom, those green eyes open wide in bewilderment, seemingly on the verge of tears, staring at his father.

DOCTOR ZALUSKI: Ethan is perfectly sane. His brain just works in a different way, Sounds, voices in his case, provoke the synestethic experience. It's like a firework, an explosion of colors in front of his very eyes. What I find fascinating is how emotions can influence his perception. In most cases pitch, tone and other characteristics of the sound are what define the perceived hue and brightness of the triggered color. For your son, it's the speaker emotion. Hence why he looks so concerned, even though he doubtfully understands what we are talking about.

All eyes turned on the blonde kid. He wrapped his arms around his mother's waist, hiding his face against her stomach.

DOCTOR ZALUSKI: Mister and Misses Thompson, you have a wonderful kid, very smart for his age. His condition will certainly affect his life, but not necessarily in a pejorative way. Good luck with him, and with your second-born. Another boy or a girl this time?

ETHAN'S MOM: It's a baby girl.

Finally a smile on her lips. She glances at the doctor, than at his husband who seems relieved too. Eventually, her eyes fall on that toddler who was hugging her. Their eyes, both green like the forest locked as he looked up at her. She ruffled his blonde hair.

ETHAN'S MOM:  Ethan already decided to call her Heidi. Heidi Thompson... I like the sound of it





The Sergeant Major was sitting in his office, intent reading a letter. The envelop resting on his desk carried the Montana's Lewis and Clark County seal.

SERGEANT MAJOR WHITE Shit...

He shook his head.

SERGEANT MAJOR WHITE: Does he know anything yet?

The other official nodded no.

CORPORAL MILLER: I thought that, given the delicate circumstances, you wanted to talk with him privately, sir.

Reading the paper once again, the Major lit up a cigar.

SERGEANT MAJOR WHITE: Did you reach out the local police? How's the girl?

CORPORAL MILLER: Physically? Bruised, a couple of stitches over the right eye, a cracked rib. But these things leave a scar, deep inside. She keeps asking for her brother.

Puffing from the cigar, he took some time checking on a file.

SERGEANT MAJOR WHITE: We keep him in the dark.

CORPORAL MILLER: With all due respect sir...

He slammed a fist on the desk, his face slightly turning red, the vein in his neck pulsating.

SERGEANT MAJOR WHITE: Are you questioning a direct order Corporal? Thompson's tour will be over in a week, and he proved to be a great asset for us with that... Thing he does.
Let's just pretend this letter never arrived."

CORPORAL MILLER: He will try to contact home sir. How do you think he'll react when he gets no answer to all his calls?

The old officer took some time to think about a solution, leaning back down on the chair and blowing circles of smoke over his head.

SERGEANT MAJOR WHITE: Communication lockdown. Nobody is allowed to call home until further notification. Understood?

CORPORAL MILLER: But Sir...

SERGEANT MAJOR WHITE: I said did you understand?

No point in arguing. The Corporal walked out, shaking his head. That kid from Montana grew on him recently. Despite his solitary attitude, he was always kind and gentle, willing to help and, unlike many others very respectful. But an order is an order, and a good soldier must respect his superior, no matter what.






How long have I been sitting here? Hours, Days, Weeks... Time has no meaning when you stop giving a fuck about it. I don't care how long I have been here, I don't care how long they will keep me locked in.
I just want to go back to Heidi.
Fuck my life, I was so close. Four days and this goddamn tour was over. But I couldn't let this slide. Everything happened so fucking fast.
Him, congratulating and enlisting me for a medal for my services to this country.
Me, asking to make a call home despite the communication lockdown.
Me, realising he was hiding something.
Him, getting all fired up and confirming my suspects.
Me, punching his fucking face.
Them, dragging me away and locking me here.
Insubordination. Article 90. Bullshit.
"Any person subject to this chapter who strikes his superior commissioned officer or draws or lifts up any weapon or offers any violence against him while he is in the execution of his office; or willfully disobeys a lawful command of his superior commissioned officer; shall be punished, if the offense is committed in time of war, by death or such other punishment as a court-martial may direct, and if the offense is committed at any other time, by such punishment, other than death, as a court-martial may direct."
Lucky me this is not time of war.
Corporal Miller was kind enough to come talking with me yesterday. With the outcast. The reject.
If anything, to tell me what I should expect.
Dishonorable discharge. Forfeiture of all pay and allowances. A ten years confinement.
They can't keep me locked in.
Heidi needs me. I need her.
He said he is pleading my case. He has connections in the upper ranks. People believing that, if this story will ever leak, if I ever get the chance to tell to the press how the US Army deliberately omitted to inform me about how my father sent my sister to the hospital just to keep me for four more days, that wouldn't be any good for the reputation.
I guess I shouldn't tell him that I would never do such a thing. That I don't care to throw more shit on a place that already stinks so much. That, considering all the things I saw in the past six months, that would most likely be the least of their problems.
He said chances are they offer me an agreement to buy my silence.
A month, maybe two in this fucking cell instead of ten years.
No honor. No money.
I take it.
I stopped giving a shit about my honor or my duties the same moment I knocked the motherfucker down.
I will find a way to provide to all Heidi's needs. A job. Honest or not, it doesn't really matter to me.
Just let me get home to her for fuck's sake!
A month, maybe two. How long does it take? I don't know, but it sounds like so much time.
Time is all I have now.
Time to think. Time to live with all my regrets. Time to hope that everything will be sorted out.
There's only one thing more precious than our time, and that's who we spend it on.
I am alone with myself.
The worst company I could ask for.