Sitting upright, he gasped for air as the sound of gunfire echoed in his dreams and followed him into consciousness. The uncomfortable cold slime of sweat soaking through his shirt left a shivering trail down his back. Not again. His therapist had told him the dreams would start to fade. After a year, it still hadn’t happened. Jonathan’s body trembled as he took slow, deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Breathing exercises, along with medication, helped fight back his anxiety but didn’t stop it entirely. He’d pretended to believe her, but the horrible memories he suppressed during the daytime still found him in his dreams most nights. Everything ached from the tension. Although biologically he was twenty-six years old, some days Jonathan felt more ancient than the grey-haired lady who sneaked seed to the pigeons every morning. He knew his bosses were beginning to become suspicious. He couldn’t completely hide the dark shadows marking his eyes or the occasional nervous twitch over nothing.
