Ray woke up in bed. This was a much more pleasant place to wake up than where he was in his head. He was dreaming of Iraq again. He leaned up and tried to dispel the lingering dream-wisps clinging to his mind like cobwebs. His eyes settled on his prosthetic arm and sat there, his slowly awakening mind coming to the slow and gradual realization of what exactly he was staring at. The doctor at the veteran's clinic said that it could take him two to six months to fully adjust to his prosthetic. That was two years ago. True, he has physically adjusted, but mentally.... 

The doctor was kinda pretty, probably younger than him, maybe. Blonde, glasses, not much of a rack, but definitely well formed. He'd thought of asking her out, but she'd just say no. She wasn't allowed to date patients. Besides, what would they have to talk about? She pretty much knew all his issues, and she probably didn't care, what with the dozens of other vets with the same fucking issues. "We're broken. Our nation broke us and we can't be fixed." She probably went home to whine to her sister or her girlfriends about how much she hates handling the stupid fucking vets and their stupid fucking issues. Why don't they just ship them off to asylums or prison or death row or just shoot them. Why couldn't they just die in Iraq and save us all the trouble.

And that was the core of it. Why couldn't he just die with his arm in that goddamn ditch in Iraq? 

He got up and walked into the kitchen, shaking from the anxiety build-up. A panic attack was coming and he could feel it. He grabbed a bottle of pills and poured a couple out. A couple more than he intended, but he didn't care. The pills went in his mouth as he opened the fridge. Thank god: there was one beer left. He was sure he drank them all last night. Ray chugged the can and then stood there, feeling the anxiety ebb and the cloud descend on his head. He had less than half-a-dozen pills left; he'd have to get his prescription refilled. 

Ray just stood there in the middle of the kitchen, vaguely enjoying the sensation of nothing in his head until John came into the kitchen. "We need more beer." Ray said.