It was always three days, wasn't it?
Alfred had waited three days and yet nothing. The prickly stubble began to grow like patches of scratchy weeds on his face, and his eyes were bloodshot and dreary. He had continued to come into the briefing room, half-listen to the days news and come home at night to a frosty beer from his empty refrigerator. All the while, the words that dropped from his mouth were cold and unfeeling. Ever since the night, he had felt a callus grow over his soul that detached his usually energetic zest from him. Every day was like a boring sitcom without a laugh track. He watched himself move from location to location and speak unenthusiastically about broken promises to himself. Win this war, he said quietly, We'll preserve the freedom of this great place.
All the while, he would silently watch the phone in hopes of some outside salvation from this nightmare he had created for himself. It had all been because of his weakness this happened at all