West Tori Park

June 29th X281

Wake up.

Warm-up.

05:00 Jog

06:00 Breakfast, hygiene, suit up

08:00 Mon–Fri Work shift

08:00 Sat/Sun Clinic appointment

11:30 Mon–Fri Lunch (Sat/Sun) Light jog, lunch in park

Every day since his first deployment, Sergeant Nowell followed his routine systematically without question. Manners, cleanliness, and order were drilled into his life and body. Buzzcut dark gray hair, a stern face at every angle, tan skin, and a trimmed gray beard were all notable features. As of that day, he was a veteran at the age of thirty-nine.

Or at least he tried to. Tarot Tori City had changed entirely during the time he was deployed. The roads had changed, the buildings had changed, even the people had changed. He had been abroad for fourteen years, and his hometown had become the fastest developed city in the world.

🙠🙢

About six months ago, when the sergeant finally came home, he checked his saved-up earnings from active duty.

“A hundred sixty-eight thousand flex spending? What’s this?” Sergeant Nowell asked the bank teller.

“That is your flex spending balance that will expire in thirty days. Since you’ve been abroad for fourteen years for military service, your monthly one thousand dollar flex spending balance stacked every cycle until the day you returned. Don’t worry; that’s separate from your savings and checking account,” the teller said.

“Hold on, what? I get a thousand dollars a month?”

“It’s flex spending. Credit that can be used on anything in Tarot Tori City. However, it refreshes to a balance of one thousand every thirty days.”

“So I get paid to stay in this city?”

“Incorrect. If you visit the Tarot Tori City medical center once a month and are a resident of this city, you will get the one thousand dollar credit. Since active-duty soldiers are required to keep up with their physical health, you were exempt from the required monthly medical center visits. Schedule a check-up every month to guarantee your balance refreshes to one thousand the following month.”

“What the—? Do I need to sign my soul to the medical center or something?”

“Nope, all medical visits are absolutely free unless severe medical treatment is required. My uncle even used his flex spending on the surgery he needed. I just use mine on food expenses.”

“So Tarot Tori City is paying me to stay here and be healthy?”

“I never thought of it that way, but yeah, that’s basically it.”

“A hundred sixty-eight thousand to spend in one month?”

Sergeant Nowell felt conflicted as he made an appointment at the medical center. Nowell thought this was all a dream. Yet he used the money on a condo within the city limits. He had never dreamed of owning his own place.

The same day Sergeant Nowell moved in, he received a housewarming gift with a handwritten note attached.

  Thank you for your service, and welcome to your new home.

  Sincerely,

  Mayor William Rite Banquet

The gift included a brochure that introduced new residents to the city. Mayor Banquet’s face was plastered right on the front.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Flipping through it, Nowell noticed it strangely included job listings and minimum wage prices. He crumpled up the brochure and chuckled. He batted the basket of gifts to the floor and stomped the handwritten note. His laugh turned into a sob. His fist turned into a tissue.

“Are you kidding me? Are you making fun of me?” Sergeant Nowell clutched his right leg. “Do you know what I’ve been through? I sacrificed everything. You rebuilt my home. I devoted my life, and you shove this in my face. Are you telling me my sacrifices were for nothing? Are you nudging me to quit the armed service? Why is the minimum wage double my salary in this city?”

🙠🙢

Sergeant Nowell tried to jog the same path he did when he was younger. He used to follow the creek that strayed right through the city. Now it was a clean aqueduct, with tiny water mill generators every few blocks. He continued, reaching the Tarot Tori Central Park.

Not much farther. Hooah. This reasonably new habit Sergeant Nowell had implemented gave him the rare opportunity to process his thoughts.

The water is still flowing east toward the pier. They say even the most insignificant streams connect to the vast oceans. It reminded him of how big the world was. Lost in thought, he used his collar to wipe his sweat.

Things have definitely changed. This area was engraved in his memory. What was once a small town was now a grand city.

Nowell checked his watch. Not seeing any improvements here; I guess this is my limit. Nowell sat down and stared blankly at the aqueduct that had once been a dirty creek, lost in thought. Like a typhoon roaring within him, voices flooded his mind, those of his friends and family. Most of them were long dead. He couldn’t stop feeling despair for what he had lost.

Among his raining thoughts, a spotlight took him by surprise. A kid from the playground close by approached Sergeant Nowell.

“Gloria—” Sergeant Nowell stopped himself, mistaking the kid as his daughter.

Unknown to the sergeant, it was Florian Lilly Cobblestone. She wore simple clothing under a bright, colorful jacket that was difficult for the sergeant to look at directly. What kept Nowell’s attention was the look on her face. The strange kid staggered closer to Nowell, shaking and flustered. She avoided eye contact but stopped about six feet in front of Nowell.

“Are you lost?” Sergeant Nowell asked, nostalgic at the look thrown at him. It reminded him of the first day he met his daughter. She was around the same age too.

Florian, in plain view, ducked and slugged her way toward the sergeant.

“Is that the new dance the kids are doing nowadays?” Nowell joked.

She kept a careful yet concerned look, an expression on a child that Sergeant Nowell hadn’t seen in a very long time. The war-torn children plagued with diseases and famine used to stare at him the same way. Children covered in dirt, malnourished, murderous, covered in rashes, or dead; all carried the same face. Absolute turmoil.

Nowell could feel the burning sensation radiating from his old wound, moving up to his heart.

“Hello.” She gasped.

“Can I help you, kid?” Nowell asked.

“Um, do you have any pets?” she asked.

“I did, but not anymore.” The blinding pink jacket was not the issue; she was trembling.

“Okay. You are not going to hurt anyone, are you?” she asked.

“Why would you think that, Glor— I mean, kid? Am I scary? I never met anyone who thinks I’m scary.” Nowell jumped up out of his seat.

“Is your leg okay?” Florian asked. She jolted backward and fell. Kicking, she squirmed, pushing herself away in a panic.

Nowell’s heart ached. His right leg screamed in pain. He rubbed his prosthetic, but the pain would not go away.

It was as if they both saw a ghost.

“Flo, what’s wrong? What happened?” Florian’s dad rushed over, picking her up.

Nowell recomposed himself. “Hello, you must be this kid’s guardian. I’m Sergeant Honest Nowell, and I think my prosthetic leg scared your daughter. It must have gone stiff on me when I stood up, is all.”

“No, I’m the one that needs to apologize. Flo is always up to something. She sees something weird, and she gets curious,” Mr. Cobblestone said.

“Yeah, I’m used to it. So, this little one’s name is Flo?” Nowell asked.

“That’s what I call her; her name is Florian. I am David Cobblestone, her father.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Cobblestone, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Florian Cobblestone,” Sergeant Nowell said.

“Say hello, Flo.”

“Hello.” Florian seemed to calm down as the conversation continued.

“See, Sergeant Nowell has a prosthetic leg. He lost his leg, so the doctors fixed him up,” Mr. Cobblestone said.

“So that’s why you were giving me strange looks. Do you want to hold it? Here.” Sergeant Nowell sat down and plucked his leg right off. “You see, I have to make sure I take care of it. Otherwise, it will get stuck like before. This leg does not heal. If you scrape your knee, you will heal. This one won’t.”

Florian inspected the leg calmly and then Sergeant Nowell.

“I guess your daughter was worried about me,” Sergeant Nowell said.

“Please don’t die, okay,” Florian said.

Her words hit Nowell like an ocean wave. Crushing him and washing him out to sea.

“Well, I better get going. I have a schedule to keep,” Nowell said.

“Yes, we better get going too. Take care. Say goodbye, Flo.”

Florian waved silently as her father carried her away.

Sergeant Honest Nowell was thirty-nine, a veteran, and a survivor.

13:00 Mon–Fri Finish shift.

19:00 Dinner.

22:00 Lights out.