Transcendence
“What is it?”
“What the hell does it look like, Frank? It’s a paper bag.”
My brother winced and I bit back a sigh. Almost nineteen and still couldn’t take someone being short with him. Thanks for leaving me with a brother with a slinky for a spine, Mom and Dad, I groused and instantly regretted it. It had been rough since our folks died and I was a major part of that; the unexpected transition back into civilian life didn’t sit too well with me and Frank often took the brunt of my resent-filled tantrums. Last year had been the worst with him losing a leg in a fight I started. Since then, I’d done my best to be a better man, a better brother. I did okay but still had a ways to go.