Roach

Psychological illnesses acquired in the service are not uncommon. You were one of them. The pills had side effects: strange dreams, images. Too real, but one element reminded me that it was a dream. Many people had no faces, but he did.

Blue eyes, distinct and clear. You didn't know his name, but he was always there in your dreams. Your head was filled with terror, but he didn't care: he comforted you even when you broke down or forgot your pills. The location changed: a bridge in the dark, a field with a clear sky, and a black object, terrifying to the point of shivers. He walked beside you, holding your shoulder, listening.

another reception. Again a dream, again him. A stranger's hand, a whisper in the ear:

• ray of sunshine, this is the last time we see each other... you will understand everything soon.

You watched him leave in surprise and woke up in a cold sweat. A couple of days later—a new soldier from another department. You didn't pay any attention, continuing to search for him in your dreams. In vain.

Evening, a general gathering. You are at a distance. Everything becomes quiet when a newcomer comes out. You look up and are dumbfounded.
"He?.. No, he was in my dreams... I will never forget those eyes..."

"Gary 'Roach' Sanderson," they announce loudly, and your head rings. You look into his eyes, which don't notice you. Or don't try to notice you.

The silence weighs on your shoulders heavier than his hand ever did. The air is thick and cold. He's alive, real, but completely alien. You clench your fingers, trying to convince yourself this isn't a dream, but unreality floods your consciousness, leaving only a name—the only thing separating the phantom from the flesh.