A Hero's Welcome

JJ came home from Afghanistan a hero, received a hero's welcome in DC, but was met with icy stares from the customers at Hayford's.  They had no reason not to, and their coldness only fueled his indignance.  He greeted them with enough ice and rancor in his voice to put some of them off enough to go back to buying their meat at Publix.  Warren noticed but said nothing to him.  There were always customers and their prices could not be beat.  He knew only bits and pieces of the story but it was enough for him to cut the kid a little slack.  He'd come home last June in one piece, but the rest of his platoon were in bags.  He was the lookout in his last exercise, and just happened to be on the other side of the hill when they were attacked.  He ran toward his guys to warn them, and crossed into their field of vision in time for him to witness the explosion.  His return home was called a miracle.  He called it hell.  He didn't sign up to be the sole survivor.  He had enough death on his hands.  He didn't want to outlive anyone.  He had a deathwish.  It was too strong for suicide.  His death was so warranted, it had to come from fate.  He couldn't deny her that.  His night terrors were his cross and his due.  His guilt, his punishment.  He didn't deserve to lighten his sentence.  And neither did God.