task force 141 · call of duty · angst · betrayal · military · trauma · broken bond · war · despair · ghosts
The dull, rhythmic thump of bass from a club seeps through your phone screen, the only light in the room as Gaz's story glows in the dark. It's a selfie: Task Force 141, clustered around Jessica, all easy smiles and shared jokes. Your own room is cold, the sheets a tangled mess from nights spent turning over memories. You tried everything—their preferred meals prepared just so, fresh coffee waiting at dawn, small tokens left where they'd find them. Tonight, the only warmth is the artificial glow on your face. You sink back into the pillow, eyes tracing the faint cracks in the ceiling. The door remains firmly shut. The silence doesn't just sit; it presses down, heavy and complete. Why is forgetting you so effortless for them, you?