The next few weeks, I was deep in the paperwork, trying to note down every second I spent on the foreign planet. For that time, I became invisible to the higher ranking officers. Not even soldiers that were under my command payed attention as they used to. It all crumbled beneath my feet.
I re-lived everything over and over again, like a bad dream. Passed few days, meds stopped working so I had to deal with it in the old fashion. I started drinking and had long sunbathes to remove that feeling of depression. Proxima Centauri was a bright star, much alike our Sun, but more warm and hospitable towards the rimworld.
Nobody noticed my current state, my mental torment, my brain whispering “Murderer” in my ear. I wished for the painful agony to stop, but such thing didn’t happened. I felt like all people that mattered have already justified the death of countless aliens and moved on, while I still hanged by a thread off a history bound to be forgotten like it wasn’t that important. Their lives and suffering was invisible. Everything was a muted cry, a screaming in the deep black hole where nobody is listening.
I wanted to go back to their world and wait on for the plague to take us all, but I couldn’t sneak out of the base and get my hands on a saucer. I cried myself to sleep last night and woke up after fifteen minutes. I haven’t closed my eyes after that.
Silence, I wanted the silence, the peace in my mind, the peace in this universe, the peace in general. The barrel of my blaster looked so appealing in the sunset where Proxima slowly disappeared behind the rimworld’s back to power up the solar panels and give us some sleep. That’s when my blaster flashed, and peace came for me.
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