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Description
I've been working on a story now for about two years. It will be finished within 2007, I'm sure of it. I'm determined. This photo is based off of said story. The story of one mans insanity. The dogtags I had made after the character and the jacket was a birthday present. Zeb gave me the dress green jacket he graduated with as a PFC in the US Army on September 11th, 2001. My favourite gift, by far. From my muse.

Here's a bit of the story so you can be amazed:

They gave him a purple heart. Handed it to him with a smile and a deep-hearted “Thank you.” But they were blasphemers.
A purple heart is awarded to a soldier wounded in battle. Purple hearts were for the men who stood shooting, three feet from the enemy, until they fell. Purple hearts and silver stars were the Oscar’s and the Grammy’s of the war production. For the mindless heroes running blindly towards the Vietcong, leaving a trail of bullets in their wake. Not for Brian Murphy, who ran away from the enemy. Not for a coward.
“What did you tell them?” Brian inspected the medal under the flickering light of his hospital room.
Redd looked over at Brian’s empty bedside table and tried not to sigh. “I told them that you were shot at…”
“Yes?” Brian raised an eyebrow lackadaisically.
“…while leading us all to safety.”
“That’s a lie.” He groaned quietly.
“I did you a favour.”
“You should have just let me die.” He turned his head to the side, stretching the stiff tendon in the side of his neck.
“I don’t ‘just leave’ my men, soldier.” Redd seemed genuinely shocked at Brian’s defiance.
“Apparently not.”
“I saved your life, Sergeant!”
“Yes you did, sir!” Brian yelled, reverting back to boot camp. “Sir, but this soldier doesn’t believe he deserved that, sir!”
“At ease, Murph. This is the pain medication talking.”
“Sir, no it isn’t, sir! This is the pain talking, sir!”
Redd finally let his sigh out and Brian knew he was feeling guilty. “The doctor’s probably going to send you home, Murph. You’re going home.”
Brian didn’t seem phased. He stared up at the ceiling, noting every groove and dip in the white above.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I wanted to die, sir.” He turned his head back towards the window, watching the sunlight shine a glowing gold on all the soldiers outside, huddled in the shade, smoking their cigarettes, waiting for the rain to come. “You’re a good soldier, Murphy. A good man.” Redd may have been the third person in his entire life to say that and mean it. He was in good company, among Beth and Maggie. But Beth was dead and so was Maggie. Redd would be gone soon and once again, Brian Murphy, Sgt. US ARMY, would be left alone with no one to let him know that he was worth anything. Not even himself.

Description
I've been working on a story now for about two years. It will be finished within 2007, I'm sure of it. I'm determined. This photo is based off of said story. The story of one mans insanity. The dogtags I had made after the character and the jacket was a birthday present. Zeb gave me the dress green jacket he graduated with as a PFC in the US Army on September 11th, 2001. My favourite gift, by far. From my muse.

Here's a bit of the story so you can be amazed:

They gave him a purple heart. Handed it to him with a smile and a deep-hearted “Thank you.” But they were blasphemers.
A purple heart is awarded to a soldier wounded in battle. Purple hearts were for the men who stood shooting, three feet from the enemy, until they fell. Purple hearts and silver stars were the Oscar’s and the Grammy’s of the war production. For the mindless heroes running blindly towards the Vietcong, leaving a trail of bullets in their wake. Not for Brian Murphy, who ran away from the enemy. Not for a coward.
“What did you tell them?” Brian inspected the medal under the flickering light of his hospital room.
Redd looked over at Brian’s empty bedside table and tried not to sigh. “I told them that you were shot at…”
“Yes?” Brian raised an eyebrow lackadaisically.
“…while leading us all to safety.”
“That’s a lie.” He groaned quietly.
“I did you a favour.”
“You should have just let me die.” He turned his head to the side, stretching the stiff tendon in the side of his neck.
“I don’t ‘just leave’ my men, soldier.” Redd seemed genuinely shocked at Brian’s defiance.
“Apparently not.”
“I saved your life, Sergeant!”
“Yes you did, sir!” Brian yelled, reverting back to boot camp. “Sir, but this soldier doesn’t believe he deserved that, sir!”
“At ease, Murph. This is the pain medication talking.”
“Sir, no it isn’t, sir! This is the pain talking, sir!”
Redd finally let his sigh out and Brian knew he was feeling guilty. “The doctor’s probably going to send you home, Murph. You’re going home.”
Brian didn’t seem phased. He stared up at the ceiling, noting every groove and dip in the white above.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I wanted to die, sir.” He turned his head back towards the window, watching the sunlight shine a glowing gold on all the soldiers outside, huddled in the shade, smoking their cigarettes, waiting for the rain to come. “You’re a good soldier, Murphy. A good man.” Redd may have been the third person in his entire life to say that and mean it. He was in good company, among Beth and Maggie. But Beth was dead and so was Maggie. Redd would be gone soon and once again, Brian Murphy, Sgt. US ARMY, would be left alone with no one to let him know that he was worth anything. Not even himself.