Depressed Soldier Novels & Stories

Colt said, with a frown. “He has PTSD, Colt. He’s locked up in a small cell. He can hardly move in there. I think Asher might be a little depressed. The mind can be a dangerous thing when it’s let loose.”

It was clear he couldn't care less about his manners. "That's right! I'm the one who killed that girl!" he snarled. "She caused me to rot in prison for two years! I'm nothing once I'm out… I lost my job, and even my wife ran away! I want to drag her down to hell with me!" "Do you remember the victim's name?" the officer pressed.

he murmured, his voice fading into silence as his grip on my hand loosened. I stared at his lifeless body, my heart heavy with guilt. I carefully retrieved the letter and promised I would honor his final wish. As his breathing slowed, a tear slipped down my cheek. Later, I learned the soldier’s story. He was a single father who had joined the battle for the commission promised to soldiers. His child, too sick to wait for his return, had passed away shortly after he left. But he was not even aware of this. The weight of his sacrifice crushed me. This wasn’t just a war. It was a tragedy fueled by greed and hatred. It was a massacre of souls.

The soldier immediately looked panicked and said, "Sorry, Miss. I shouldn't have mentioned this. I intend to talk a lot when I get nervous." I tightened the tourniquet and said, "OK, you're ready to go." He stood up and didn't immediately go away. "Miss... I didn't mean to cross you... You're very kind to us. You cooked for us and helped us..." he whispered. I looked at him and said, "Don't worry. I understand that you can't talk. You're ready to go now." The soldier still lingered around and didn't want to go away. He looked very upset.

they said in unison as they raised their glasses together. "Hurry up! You arrogant humans, you should be happy to be our frontline troops to protect our homeland. Why do you have such gloomy and sad faces? Hurry up, run again!" said a soldier who was assigned to train there by that cruel man. "Sir, I'm just a farmer, I'm fifty years old, how can I have the strength to run again at my age?" asked the man who looked thin and whose face and clothes were disheveled. Smack!

He said something to the novice and made his way down to Eugene. “How do you feel being tricked and killed?” mocked sergeant Louis. “You have killed most of my soldiers, do you think I will leave you alive, monster? But look at you now, weak and fallen!” There was a nervous tic under his left eye as he spoke. Some men became doppelgängers of what they once were in the terror-filled battle, mere mannequins cast adrift from their souls. It could be the constant, mordant smell of death. It could be the sight of men being blown apart.

I kept nodding as I remembered what he was saying. “I remember that. You keep on saying, ‘I’m tired. I want to die. I want to hang myself to death. I want to jump off of this building. I want to poison myself. I want to cut my wrist’ and the like.You’re really messed up that time,” I said straightforwardly. “Yeah right?” He sniffed. I stared at him and waited for him to talk again. “Levi...” he mumbled as he slumped to the floor.

No one answered his call for help when he said he was surrounded by Decker and his soldiers. Some of them hung up on him, some of them cut ties with him, and some pretended that they did not know him. No one offered aid. What a joke! Who would want to oppose the state military governor? It was suicidal! The devastating outcome shocked him. He felt like his world had collapsed on him. He fell into despair and endless anxiety. Despair was smeared all over his lifeless face. “I have given you the chance, but you wasted it,” Decker scoffed. “Men, take them all away!”

I had fought off a goddess; I could certainly fight off the lingering shadows of a manipulative, broken girl. The rest of the day was a somber blur. The initial euphoria of victory had dissolved, replaced by the grim reality of war’s aftermath. Soldiers, their faces etched with exhaustion and grief, moved silently through the streets and fields, collecting the fallen. Each still form, draped reverently in cloaks, was a stark reminder of the cost of our triumph.

Finally, they could get him; if not, he will die by himself eventually. Colonel Zakariah stood amidst the bustling chaos of the hospital, his eyes scanning the sea of wounded soldiers with a mixture of sorrow and simmering anger. Each face bore the scars of battle, a stark reminder of the relentless conflict that had consumed their lives and shattered their bodies. As he moved through the crowded wards, his mind churned with thoughts of vengeance and retribution, his heart heavy with the weight of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders.