Back To Brown

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I’ve been back here only a week and already I feel suffocated. Literally, sometimes by the dust that floats everywhere, and figuratively, by the sameness that characterizes each and every day.

It’s a small, small world that I now live in. In the week that was I got up to speed on work I left at the office, so that’s done. I met the same set of people, just a few new faces. I’ve been to the PX, the gym, the dining halls, the boardwalk.  I’ve revisited the bunkers several times, morning and night. And I’m back to wearing the same old clothes, back to eating the under seasoned food, back to talking about mostly the same old stuff.

There is only so much monotony I can take. In attempts to break the sameness of days, I step out from the brown box that is my office and take a short, aimless walk outside. There is the rock-paved ground underfoot, the dust billowing upwards to meet my face. When I raise my eyes to the sky I see the same brown of the horizon and the same hue covers almost every surface, as far as one can see.

Sometimes it feels as though I live in a huge movie set, circa 1940s, setup in a fictional location deep in the belly of the beast that is war. And then I am jolted back to the reality—oh right, I am here—in the midst of a war.


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