It was clear to the boy that his days of chemical dancing were over. It had been where he had lived, and he knew it; he could never go home ever again. The rock steadiness of his would-be assassin prompted him to try to follow in his footsteps. He didn't realize that the man was born with much of this quality. Even if he did know, the boy knew change was possible. He had just come back from being dead; he knew he could do and become anything.
He needed education; he obtained it. He needed a deeper understanding; he worked for it. It was a limitless part of his life. The monsters that plagued him forever were challenged, and he faced them one by one.
He sold himself to the very rank and file he said he would never entertain, and they were delighted to receive him. He hit every target, and he surprised the warriors. As the days got colder and the boy's commitment intensified. He knew he was on his way to what he wanted to be.
On the home front, it seemed like some of the best days. There were, however, undercurrents of things not being exactly what they seemed. Surrender and trust were whispered litmus tests of days declared set free. Emusification looked perfect until the lone stirrer rested. If times were indefinite, the lifespan of the union was unbalanced. The girl's experience differed from the boy's experience during the last year, even though they navigated the same deep valley. It was a most difficult complexity.
On that cool late November day, the boy made the promise that he could not take back. It was one of the coldest Decembers on record, during which the boy studied and turned his life upside down, shaking parts of it out onto the floor as he tried to make sense of everything. He only had a month before his life was no longer his to decide.
As the bitter December continued on with limited resources, the boy and girl tried to make the best of what they had. Everything seemed to be going according to plan until that fateful morning of the 20th, when the boy woke up to the news of Operation Just Cause. This violently shifted the paradigm that he had convinced himself of. A voice from the house where all of the words of scholars are homed echoed asking him, "Are you willing to die for the profit of people who do not know you or care about you?"
There was no way to turn back. The boy, whose days were quiet and warm inside the house, as the bitter December raged outside the window, was worried. What did he do? There was a war in Southeast Asia when he was a child, and for some reason, it could easily happen again.
January came, and the icy winds continued. The oath the boy took was starting to feel like someone was pushing his head underwater, and he began to notice that he had less control all the time. There were only 7 days that month in which he was free. He had been stagnant for the last 4 months, and he had to do something. But this? There was no turning back from this. When the 8th day came, he got up in the morning, where would he be tonight? He had no idea.
As the bus pulled away from a street damaged and decaying, the boy watched the girl get smaller out the window. A million things passed through the boy's mind, mostly the question: "What am I doing?"
The plane took off for the sky and, in a Twilight Zone-like whirlwind like that of the Odyssey of Flight 33, touched down in a snowstorm. The boy shuffled onto a bus, and as the diesel engine sang its song that sounded like incarceration, the boy finally knew, this was wrong, but also happening.
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