One Foot through the Door, One Foot Out
             There was change in the air, a fresh noted difference between the world I left and the one I reentered. You lack noticing these small details with daily routine and repetition, but they exist for the whole world to see. Little things like the city, commerce, afternoon sunshine, and chaotic downtown traffic just seemed accurate for the life of your regular urbanite. It came to me that these differences were what made me truly happy about being a civilian again.
             All was going quite well, I was getting my feet on the ground and reintegrating myself back into civilian life, until the day of darkness came and again a call of the world I left behind tried to drag me back to miserable drudge and mayhem. The day of darkness came with sounds of people screaming and sharp metallic crash of glass and steel and fires roaring and the sky line falling from the heavens. News reporters flashed on every channel on television,"...one plane just hit the Trade Towers... people are still in the building." Interviews with people in full-flight terror and hungering retribution scarred into their souls plagued the newspapers.
             Even counting all this, the tremendous fire that claimed so many American lives and the families they were cruelly ripped away from, I couldn't go back. It's not as if I lack spirit for I have given more of myself than most could in that past life, the world I left behind. A world where any and all I did was sacrificed to others, taken and credited in their name. Honor, courage, and commitment were more like paltry jokes than words to live and die by. It is a world that tears the being of a person down to be structured in the views of a long dead president, so they can go out and die by the sword or arms. I don't think I could ever go back.
             In a closet in my apartment, I have kept what little belongings from that life in case there came a time when I would rem...