The Journey Back
He feels the heat of the sand. He lies still. The weight of his gear presses him into the ground. Shrapnel falls from the sky, stabbing the desert.
Somewhere, voices cut through the haze, shouting orders. A high-pitched ring echoes in his skull, rising with the pressure behind his eyes. In the distance, the thrum of a chopper says help is close.
But will it come in time?
Then, the world snaps back.
The sand, gone. A hardware store aisle stares back at him. Under fluorescent lights, his hands grip the cart. Empty.
What day is it? What did I come here for?
Footsteps behind him—sharp, sudden, too close.
Then, a nose against his leg. He looks down. Journey’s eyes meet his. He exhales, and the fog clears. He’s here again.
He reaches for a tool on the shelf, and the weight begins to lift—from his chest, from his mind.
Journey watches with a panting smile. Paul’s silent compass. His anchor. His reason to keep going.
“Journey knows what’s wrong before I do,” he says. “Before I even know what’s going on with myself.”
And when the memories return and the road ahead feels long, Journey brings him back to now.
Every time.
