Depressed Soldier Novels & Stories

However, every single bullet seemed to stop around a meter before Wilbur, as if they had been met with an invincible barrier. The bullets would lose speed and flatten out of shape before falling to the ground as if they had hit solid metal. Wilbur smirked coldly, lighting up with roaring spiritual flames. "Dirge of Despair." As the words rang through the air, a powerful wave of spiritual pressure shrouded all the soldiers of the Scorpion Army. All at once, an overwhelming sense of isolation and hopelessness filled the soldiers. They fell into a daze, dropping their weapons and falling into a deep, terrible depression.

Both commander Abramov and his deputy bowed off their hats to me before exiting the room, leaving me alone to my thoughts and I didn't know when a tear escaped from my ducts. A month passed by in a blur and I was finally discharged from the military hospital after it was confirmed I was fit to move and become a normal citizen, but I couldn't. The world was in total depression since the end of war, there was a huge rise in inflation — the biggest in the history of mankind, and Earth didn't feel like Earth anymore. It felt like hell was already on Earth.

he explained with his lips quivering and his body drooping. “That means we're the same. In my case, I became a drunkard. Depressed enough by the guilt, pain, and sadness I felt the day lost my wife. I tried to get up to find my son, he was my only hope but I ended up losing my mind, my inner demon controlled my mind making me think I don’t have a chance to find my son. I became a violent, drunkard old lad that everyone hates because of the way I treat them.” They both finish up the soup when they heard a groan beside them. It was coming from the bed. They both stand up to see that Therens was moving from his sleep, tossing and turning with his eyes closed and furrowed eyebrows as if he was h

Four men who once commanded legions. Colonel Duane Xander: Paralyzed from the waist down due to unknown spinal nerve degradation, resistant to all known nerve regeneration therapy. General Marcus Hutchins: Suffering from severe burns, nerve damage, and deteriorating lung function. He also had PTSD-induced tremors and chronic insomnia. No medications working. Captain Wesley Hamlin: A former intelligence officer with massive trauma-induced amnesia and recurring seizures. Conventional neurological scans show nothing conclusive. Commander Zachary Barnes: In a vegetative state following cardiac arrest, but his brain shows unusual fluctuating wave activity, as though he were trapped somewhere betw

"My baby! My baby I never met I'm going to finally meet her!' One soldier thought to himself tears flowing down his eyes. 'I survived hell. For just the simple dream of getting to meet her!' 'My wife I married shortly after the start of the war! I'm sure she's at homer waiting for me still!' 'H-Ha I used to hate going fishing with my father. Now I don't think there's anything else in the world I would rather do.' 'I guess mom's going to get on me about marriage again. I never thought I'd say this but I can't wait to settle down and have a family.' 'BEEER! I'M GONNA DRINK SO MUCH BEER! AND I'M GOING TO SPEND ALL MY MONEY ON WOMEN! SO MUCH WOMEN SO MUCH BEEER! HAHAHA!' 'Now what do I do? I'm

"Yes, Perer. If you would mind telling me, please do." "Today, I thought about my depression and how it has been eating me slowly. Do you know what depression is?" "Yes I do," the therapist replied. "Well," I continued. "My depression has been feeding on me slowly. It has taken total control of my body and it is washing me away. Today, I heard the sound of the drum in my bedroom. The sound was not sharp neither was it clear. It was just there. It was from the sound of the drum that I learnt how long it takes for someone to die before he realize he is dead."

Miguel was cleaning his caliber 45 in his hut at their camp. That’s where he would live with the other soldiers. He felt like the gun is already a part of him. It was with him like forever. It was his partner way before he was still starting in the army up until now that he became an officer designated in this province. At the age of 28, he’s already successful with what he has achieved in the army. But he admits that it was not an easy road going to where he is now.

The test may have been positive like that of everyone else around here, but most of them don't show symptoms, and neither did he. In wars, every dead body on one side is the other’s fault. Soldiers can die of thirst and strokes in battle, they can starve to death, take their lives, or get shot by their general: in the statistics, they will still only be casualties, murdered by the enemy. ‘Wasn't he waiting for a transplant and couldn't get it because of the crisis?’ Sometimes a nod can be as destructive as a blasting bomb - as demoralising as a doomsday vision.

"Don't you think we tried a male first? More than one actually. Derrick has sent every single last one of them packing. You're his last hope. If you can't get him to calm down?" Her stepdad trailed off, and she frowned. "What are you worried about? Do he think he's suicidal?" She'd not gotten that impression. Angry, yes, but she got the sense that at his core existed a fighter, and she'd not sensed the dangerous despair-not yet at least-that overtook so many other soldiers suffering from PTSD who also had to deal with the new reality of a physical impairment. "Derrick's a loose cannon right now. Worse than that, he's a hurt animal. And animals who are in pain, even the mental kind, do stupid

But standing here in the healing room, hearing the cries of our soldiers who’d been severely injured, I couldn’t find it in me to feel anything but grief. This was the part I hated about wars. “Please tell me it's a lie… my son cannot be dead,” a woman cried. She was the mother of one of the soldiers who’d lost his life from a gunshot. The healers tried comforting her but she only cried louder. She wasn’t the only one mourning, another soldier sat quietly beside a corpse barely recognizable from the fire burn, tears trailing down his cheeks. I made my way to him. “Who is he?” I questioned, as I took a seat beside him.