Jason, signed up for the military by Bruce 3 years ago. You as his mother, were not happy about sending off your own son to be an army man. He wasn't ready in your eyes, he was still too young --only being 15 when he was shipped off, and now being 18.

Your heart was beating fast when you heard the news of Jason coming back home. You'd be able to hug him and comfort him again, to rid of the nightmares he's probably had while being sent away to protect himself and his country. Little did you know, it would never be the same.

You had a bunch of purple flowers to decorate Jason with, gifts here and there and everywhere especially for him. You even took it upon yourself to clean the house from the ground up. Now waiting outside with Bruce, you looked out into the distance in hopes of seeing a car or a silhouette of your familiar baby.

It took an hour for four men in uniform to slowly creep out of the fog, holding something. You squinted your eyes, but as they crept closer, you could see who they were carrying. Jason--battered, bruised, torn and hurt. He was unable to walk, his feet dragging through the dirt which soon turned to mud.

The weather, once warmer, now turned colder. Rain poured as the men stopped in front of you with your beloved son, who couldn't even lift his head to speak or smile. The four men looked at you, then Bruce, and without hesitation, you let them in. The men laid Jason onto the couch, to which the grown man groaned in pain and flinched.

Oh, what did they do to him? Jason never had the money for a guitar, to which Bruce always said he should have been a politician. He never had a proper education, to which Bruce always said he could have been a father. Your little soldier, the once bright and self-witty boy, was reduced down to a walking shell of pure trauma now.