Scenes unfold sometimes like that goddamned ViewMaster toy my brother and I used to fight over when we were young.

Still images that burn their way into your psyche, your subconscious.

Muzzle flashes, from your weapon and theirs serve as bursts from a camera flashbulb, freezing moments in tableau.

The more you try to erase the emotion of those moments, the more you flounder, fail, fall deeper into them.

God forbid if that ViewMaster is in charge of your dreams, click click clicking away, taking away sleep and replacing it frame by frame within your brain with sweat, fear, regret.

Yet, you fire, reload, and fire again, because at the conclusion, when you are delivering your LACE report, you are relieved that you are able to lose sleep, and not losing life.

You’re prudent. You wait for trouble, always ready, toujours pretend.

Click, click, click…