Even though he’d reminded himself several times that she was an angel that could sprout wings at her leisure, he still felt terrible. He could barely remember the subway ride home. He’d stood in the train, staring blankly ahead, his mind in another place and time. It was the worst possible explanation for everything he had been through, and it made him sick to his stomach. Watching men fall around him, dropped by bullets and ripped apart by explosions, was something that would haunt his dreams forever. The slow-moving scenes played out in his mind like some sort of demented theater show. Even now, as he stood on the fire escape, watching the lightning that flashed behind gray clouds, he could see it like he was still there. He could hear every sound, feel every emotion all over again in startling detail… All had grown silent. The shots and explosions had stopped seconds ago. The Iraqis probably through he was dead. God help him if they decided to descend the ridge and rifle through the carnage.
