After dropping Lilly off, Konan drove home. The older he got, the more he loved staying home. His home served as his refuge from the insanity of the world that lived in.
He pulled close to his porch and stepped into the night. Even from his house, which sat on the far outskirts of town, the sky appeared blood red. He could hear the shouts of defiance and knew that rebellion had begun.
He had seen it all before, in more destitute parts of the world, but never had he thought it would happen in America.
For his lack of faith in humanity, Konan had prayed that his cynicism was wrong. It hadn’t been, and Konan knew that his fears were rooted in truth.
After showering, Konan sat on the side of his bed. He pulled his cedar chest to him and opened it. Konan stared at the American flag that his unit presented hm with when he retired.
“Our sacrifices meant nothing. All the blood, the horror, the dead and the dying, none of it meant anything.”
A single tear rolled down Konan’s cheek, he laid back on the bed and let a restless slumber fall over him.