you will come home from the war a jaded veteran. your dreams are dead and your wife will try, but the passion is gone forever. the more you're home the more you want back out there. you'll start drinking, to muffle the sounds of dying comrades and blazing foes alike, one night you'll have a little too much and slap your wife around when she tries to pass off a tv-dinner as her own creation. she'll cry and you'll promise her it'll never happen again, but as you go through the motions day by day, you feel more and more empty inside.

until finally you'll find salvation is the barrel of a gun pressed against the roof of your mouth, your brain splatter the canvas with which you paint your way to valhalla, the cheers of comrades in arms once more battering against your eardrums.

welcome home, warrior