Cielo Bella Chester

EDU 214
January 31, 2021

Graffiti Painting Story

The war on Zeta Nein had been going on for years now. Battle after battle with blood
running faster than water into the soil. Steve had been a soldier in this war for close to a decade
and thought the only way he would be released from it was his death. When his brigade got news
of the cease-fire, most of them were hesitant to believe it. Steve himself was one of these people,
hoping it was true, but reluctant to expect too much. When they were told to turn around and
march back home though, the hope tried to grow, but he smothered it, ready for the worst and the
news to head back to the front-line. It wasn’t until he made it back to his farm, the land he hadn’t
seen since he was a boy, that the news finally sunk in and stuck. The war was over, at least for
now. Steve was home. He no longer had to fight, to rush a battlefield, leading boys as young as
he once was into what was likely to be their first and only fight. No longer did he have to look in
the eyes of boys -not men, not yet- and know that the field they were about to run onto would
likely be their final resting place unless they got likely and their bodies were able to be collected
to burn so their ashes could be sent home. Steve was back on his farm, a place he didn’t think he
would ever get the chance to see again, like so many he had known. As he walks in the house,
dust stirring, he can’t stop the rush of relief and weariness that passes through him down to his
bones. The land and house are unused but not neglected thanks to the local boys to who he sent
his money to keep it from falling apart or becoming overgrown. Everything is almost exactly as
he remembers, with only a few things out of place: a chair, a cup left out of the cupboard, a towel
left on the table instead of hung. He had changed so much since seeing this place last, no longer
with family here to greet him, and his body changed. Scars he had acquired in battles and
wounds that would never truly leave him. Memories that he knows haunt him and will continue
to do so until the end. None of this matters though when he goes out the back door and sees the
land that has long been left forgotten. It needs a lot of help, but already plans are forming in
Steve’s head on what needs to be done, what his next crop will be, what animals he should be
able to bring to this land to bring it alive once again. The emptiness that was around him here is
slowly ebbing away, being pushed back with his plans for the future, plans he never dared
dreamt to make, especially knowing how few actually made it home, let alone those who went
home less than functioning. He was lucky. What a funny thing to think, that after all the
bloodshed he has seen and caused, that he would end up being a lucky one. But he was. With a
mix of emotions that he didn’t bother trying to pick apart, Steve goes back inside, knowing he’ll
have to out of the land for a little while longer while he gathers what he needs to fix it. The
inside, however, is in need of a very good clean first and foremost, and it gives him something to
do with his hands while he allows the truth of no more war to settle in him. He gathers his
supplies from around the house and brings them to the kitchen, decided to start there, since it’s as
good a place as any, and he’s sure he’ll get hungry eventually, and wouldn’t it be nice to have
actual food from an actual kitchen for the first time in years. As he goes through the house taking
his time to clean, he knows that this could be the start of an actual life, not the one he had known
and hated and accepted, but one he could instead be content with. While he could never forget
the things, he had seen and heard and done, he could move forward with time. As his house and
land and the farm grew and changed and bettered, he hoped – real and allowed and growing
hope- that so would he.