The Soldier

By Tom Dillion

The Soldier walks barefoot in a gas mask, hands soaked with stage blood and holding a lavender plant with curiosity. He lathers his hands with dyed corn syrup because he has found that there is an art in creating a scare. Art is a gateway for intuition and empathy. Therefore, scares are also a gateway, and he surrounds himself with these gateways as much as possible. The gas mask is one he loathes, but one he must wear to function in his everyday life. It does not allow him to breathe the salty Bostonian air. It hides his interests, his passions, his whirlwinds of emotion that doctors have grouped into a diagnosis: a spectrum. But the lavender plant? He adores it. The chemical compounds soothe his anxieties through the respiratory tubes of his mask. He finds relativity in its symbolism, that men may also love men. All the while, he has made the decision to sit with his feet exposed in the grass. The scars of his past are usually hidden by shoes and socks. But he has learned that those wounds do not define him. Though they may still sting, he has grown so much since then, allowing himself to share his journey. That is what makes him a Soldier.