Fiction Piece based on Poem "Disabled" by Wilfred Owen My Lonley Soilder

I wanted to retch. The sharp stench of disinfectant combined with the sheer terror at the thought of what the next few minutes had in-store for me. Thoughts of abandonment, turning around and going home, filled my mind. I could have just walked straight past, continued on home, pretended to just be another person passing the cold, grey building. I still do not know what made me stop, turn towards the building and walk straight …

…nightmare. I gave up trying to make small talk with him as he seemed unreceptive to my sympathetic formalities. The next two hours were spent in a similar, uncomfortable state of my attempts to strike a conversation and his blunt responses. I left that day with a feeling of reconciled modesty and thankfulness for my own health. A deep sadness settled in my heart for his fate and the part I played in casting it.