Charlie was never the same after the war. He came home; well we all came home, but something stayed over there, in his case. It wasn’t that he was unbalanced, exactly. At first glance he seemed perfectly normal. And probably to himself there were never any problems. It was just that his perceptions of the world were different from ours. Specifically, from the day Charlie returned, he couldn’t see so well. It wasn’t like he was going blind, though: he could see houses, and telephone polls; dogs and food. He just couldn’t see people. The task of taking care of him fell to me, his closest friend.

            The others tended to make fun of Charlie. They didn’t sympathize with his affliction, that’s for sure, and they always complained when I brought him with us on outings. After all, he was a fair downer. He only stood at attention, or sat when a seat was available. At home, his routine was similarly boring and strange: every morning he’d wake up at dawn, at our old army wakeup time to be exact, and he’d go through the calisthenics we’d all learned. After that, he’d get out and run. He’d run a good long time, every morning. There wasn’t much else for him to do. I used to leave plenty of food outside his room door while he ran, and it was always gone by night. So Charlie didn’t have a problem with his existence, exactly, but he didn’t have anything to do, either. If we tried to touch him, direct him by force or anything, he’d cooperate like a child, but his face – his eyes would never acknowledge any change.

            Things would’ve stayed like that for a long time, I think, but one day Charlie came home from his run a bit cut up and bruised. I didn’t find out until night, because that’s when I would see him. When I saw this, I was put a bit at a loss – he was impossible to influence in any way, and he hadn’t said a word since he’d arrived. Anyway, I put it down as a fall, and left it at that.

            The next week it happened again, only worse. Charlie was still bleeding when I saw him that night, though from his countenance I wouldn’t have known it. I decided that this was unacceptable, that something bad was happening to the poor kid on his runs, and that I had to investigate.

            I called off work the next day and shadowed Charlie. We didn’t run long when we passed near the high school – we passed a lot of kids walking that way too. Lo and behold, a block later, I saw two kids – two kids I knew, no less – run up and trip Charlie as he ran. I couldn’t believe it. Of course, Charlie only fell, picked himself up, looked a little surprised, and then kept running. The kids had figured out he couldn’t see them. Before I could say anything, they ran up to him and did it again – this was terrible. I yelled out, angry as I’ve ever been, and they scattered. I figured that was that, and went home.

            A week went by uneventfully, but obviously I wouldn’t be telling this story if that was that. Soon Charlie came back hurt again – there was a big bruise on his shin and shoulder, and a gash in his arm. I had to take drastic measures, keep that in mind. I’m not proud of what I did next, but if in the same situation – hell, I’d do it again, I know I would.

            That night, I made up an official-looking envelope. Inside I put a sheet of paper with the names and identifying characteristics of Charlie’s assailants. Under that, I wrote, “orders: terminate.”  The expression on Charlie’s face when he got his official orders was beautiful, and he even skipped his calisthenics that morning: he only saluted and marched out the door. Needless to say, we never heard from those kids again.