writing prompts

love, service

hestia pov

I'll come back for you, I promise.

That moment haunted me daily, unbidden yet relentless. The terror it stirred within was palpable. As I watched my best friend and lover slip away from me, fear gripped my heart—not just for him, but for all the souls alongside him in the army. I remember those agonizing hours spent glued to the news, hearing reports of gunfire targeting our planes over Afghanistan. I prayed fervently for their safety, but fate cruelly delivered the grimmest of outcomes.

When the draft swept through, a hush fell over America. The vibrant laughter, joy, and hope that once colored our days seemed to vanish, leaving in its wake a eerie stillness. I was among those caught in the silent aftermath, feeling the world grow dim around me. Colors lost their brilliance, the sky was perpetually overcast, and my thoughts were haunted by dreaded outcomes that played over and over in my mind.

I wrestled with shame over how deeply this all affected me. Was it selfish to crave normalcy? To desire just one day free from thoughts of him in the midst of war? I longed to reclaim my life, to smile without that smile faltering, but guilt shadowed even those fleeting moments of joy. Reluctantly, I let the smiles fade until they vanished altogether. How could I possibly find happiness knowing my husband might be facing his last moments? Each attempt at cheer felt like a betrayal to him.

The day I had to let him go is fragmented in my memory, shards of pain and desiring moments. I remember the tight grip of my family, holding me back as he walked away, the desperate yearning for one more hug, one last kiss that they denied me. Envy and resentment towards them surged through me. I tried to hold myself together, to remain composed, and I managed until we stepped out of the car. That's when reality crashed down on me like a wave, overwhelming and inescapable.

As I grappled with letting go of a loved one, my anguish spilled over onto those around me. I wasn't just distant; I was harsh, snapping at anyone who crossed my path. They couldn't possibly understand. Their well-meaning pleas to "calm down" or "hope for the best" only fueled my frustration. I was trying with every fiber of my being to hold on, to keep pushing through the pain. Yet, all I felt was the exhausting weight of my efforts, knowing deep down that trying was all I had left.

My self-care plummeted as grief took hold. Weeks passed without a shower, as I clung to his clothes, unwashed, so they would still carry his scent. Combined with my own neglect, a musty odor began to permeate the house. Eating fell by the wayside, no longer a priority in my fog of sorrow. Eventually, my body gave in, landing me in the hospital for severe malnutrition—a stark reminder of how deeply his absence had affected me.

The mere thought of my own state during his absence makes me shrivel. I was caught in a tumultuous inner conflict—torn between the guilt of wanting to forget him for a while and the anguish of indulging in my own pain, as though I were the one fighting in the war. Was it selfish to wish for respite, or was I simply torturing myself unnecessarily, caught in a battle of my own making?

I steal a glance over my shoulder at the man who once embodied my dreams—and perhaps now my nightmares. As I study him, the stark differences from when I last saw him are jarring. Back then, even as he faced the draft, he exuded warmth and reassurance, cracking jokes through our turmoil as if we were basking in the sun on a serene beach day. His baby blue eyes were my ocean, deep and comforting. But now? Those same eyes have turned stormy, dark with pain and a haunting disconnection that chills me to the bone.

It's been just over a month since he returned, yet it feels like years have dragged by. A smile has yet to grace his lips. He avoids eye contact, and words seem foreign to him now. I find myself wondering, am I expecting too much too soon? What unseen horrors carved this hollow shell from the man he once was? If you weren't close enough to hear the faint whisper of his breath, you might mistake him for a mannequin, so still and lifeless. .