By Patrícia Bispo
He left: my superhero, a smile in his eyes and pride in his voice.
He came back a soldier, who carried the war on his slumped shoulders, and with the eyes of one who has seen too much. He came back with shaking hands, and horrible piercing screams that woke him from his nightmares and me from my last remaining hope war had left him unscarred. He came back, a man who pulled the trigger. But this was the first time he did it to make himself fall.
They wanted to bury him with the flag. I did not let them.
This is very touching and strong. Great piece of writing.