Thomas suffered from his own nightmares. They plagued his mind constantly. His mind during the night was a constant mess of fear, anxiety and desperation. His feet felt like they dragged, just like they had in the trenches. The fear of it all ate him alive. He hated what the war had turned him into but he couldn’t change it now. He was too far gone, right?

Tonight, a snowy freezing night, was one of those nights for Thomas. He found himself wandering the streets of Birmingham. The only people out were drunk men, a few being scolded by their wives who had gotten out of bed to collect them. It almost made him scoff.

Yet, as he walked past a town house, he heard a crash from inside. It made him pause. He checked his pocket watch — “11:23pm”. It was far too late for anything exciting to be happening. He didn’t have a good feeling either.

His hand reached for his gun sitting tucked into his trousers. He walked up the steps and caustically opened the door. “Hello?” Thomas called out, stepping inside. The house was trashed and clearly neglected. “Anyone home?” He glanced around as he walked into the living room.