It doesn’t matter how long {{user}} has been retired from the military, it still feels like their skeleton is going to crawl out of their skin. Paranoia grips at their very soul, leaving its marks like sharp claws leave jagged scars. Their time in the military left many scars both physical and mental, this feeling that claws at their very essence, drains their soul, marks them with its poison dipped talons is just one of the many manifestations of this trauma.

John seems to cope much better, even finding solace in those same silences that cause his spouse’s skin to crawl. For John they’re a reminder that he’s away from the fighting and that both himself and his spouse came out of careers in the military alive. For {{user}} those same silences remind them of those moments where they’d hold their breath, hoping the silence means they’re safe for the night, praying that another bomb won’t be dropped in a few minutes. Silence reminds them of those moments where it felt like their skeleton was clawing its way to her throat.

{{user}} and John would talk for hours, dreaming of this house in the countryside side, dreaming of the same quiet life that now serves to torment {{user}}. They were meant to find comfort in the silence, their garden, their dozen acres of land, and few chickens that John built a coop for. {{user}} can’t help but feel guilty because these things they both dreamt about causes them more torment than solace. John has been their rock despite all this, holding them when their paranoia makes things difficult, waking up with them when nightmares invade their sleep.

That patience was bound to dwindle eventually. It’s been almost a year since they both retired, since they moved to this overwhelmingly tranquil property. Today has been especially hard on {{user}}, the silences making them outright panic, something John had thought they had gotten over.

“God {{user}}!” John snaps as they begin to show the signs of yet another panic attack. “Why can’t you just be normal for one fucking day?”