A sip of black coffee warmed Jacob. Over the last eight hours, snow had enveloped the town like desert sand.  Grace, dressed in her faded apron, was his only company tonight.  The diner had been left nearly unchanged by his four year absence.  Maroon stools stood in the same silent formation along the bar and the utensils were arranged in their familiar fashion. The diner had somehow preserved its dingy attitude. Jake loved it once.

A cream colored mug sat alone upon the white counter top, circular brown rings  rippling from its base.   Crumbs littered the area from a messy customer before.  Jacob didn't care to clean them up.  Tonight, he had only the appetite for quiet reflection. The corporal touched the mug to his lips, pondering why he even drank that shit.  The stare turned downward into the dark abyss.

Commanding officers looked down upon cream-and-sugar soldiers.  I learned quickly, abandoned my creamy comforts for the bitter standard.  People warmly stated that the service had made me into a “new man.” I agree.

Snow was still falling heavily outside the window. Each powdered flake was meeting the same end, fluttering elegantly before crashing against the asphalt.  The scene was painted with the pink light from the diner's neon sign.  He had never before viewed snow as a blessing. Baghdad lacked much precipitation.

At my post I always wished.  Wished again and again.  Wished it could just fucking drizzle.  Wished God--If he even existed--would do something.

The soldiers head shot up as Grace refilled the cup.  

"You look like you could use more coffee hun."

Jacob smiled in response.  He had always liked Grace.  Once--she had probably forgotten by now--Jacob had asked her out for a drink.   He always wondered if something could have happened between them; he wondered what would have happened if he never left.

  I had always like to play soldier.  In our childhood, my friends and I must have shot millions of those unseen bullets.  We would aim and fire.  I would run into the yard to save my fallen comrade--John always died first.  But sometimes I would fall down with a hanging tongue and blank eyes.  Then we would start a new game.  Dad said I would be just like him.

A shrill metallic ring from behind abruptly cut the silence, bringing back memories of smoking shells hitting concrete.  The front door opened. An unseen clamor approached his post upon the counter.  Too groggy to acknowledge the strangers' presence, Jake instead fixed his gaze ahead.

His peripheral vision immediately caught sight of the first character. A black ski mask shrouded his face and some Arabic words sat across a white blood stained headband. His eyes dead but alive.  

Grace did not seem bothered by the religious extremist.

The figure swung his legs over a stool three to the left and wheeled around to face Jacob.  His eyes. Those eyes. They twisted through Jake like a scorching bullet.  The man's chest respired, wheezing through countless bullet holes.

One by one  men entered, all resting seats adjacent to mine.

A dark skinned young man sat next, a black beard framed his face awkwardly.  His confidence gave way to years of fear and confusion.  Family ties and doubts riddled his perception.  The foreigner's eyes quivered as he traced the aging soldier.

The line of men was somewhat long as a dozen more filled the now crowded space.   Men scattered throughout various stages of life dined at Matt's that night.  Every one had a story written on his eyes.  Eyes that remained fixed upon Jacob.

He wished the faces weren't familiar. This midnight company couldn't be here. Not in America. Not in Iraq. Not on earth.  

They were his dead.

All of the stools surrounding him were filled with gazing cadavers, save for one. Dread swamped over Jake.  The present men didn't scare him. Four months of basic training had erased that possibility. The empty stool to his right drew forth all his attention. He prayed for one, just one, absentee.

The bell tolled one final time.

The wooden door gently opened to reveal a woman's  delicate shape.  A torn black veil highlighted her beauty.  She approached, slowly laying each foot in front of the other.  Her blackened pupils showed only innocence.   Slowly she sank into the empty space, lovely now as she was then. Her pupils gently lifted upward.

While driving through the capital, an armored vehicle three ahead of my own detonated an IED.  Through the churning smoke I saw the eyes.  Armed men rose from every source of cover.  The first sound of fire ignited my instincts.  I killed men. Lots of them.  I turned down a corner into an alley, raising my sights to touch the head of a flanking attacker.  When the form covered him, I pulled the trigger. I pulled the trigger--an error.  Her pretty face collided with the hard desert sand.

Jacob darted from the diner into the whitened midnight. The neon light bit into his back.  Legs plodded through the snow, out into the winter night.   He tried so hard to forget.