Short Story: The Cold War

Trent’s symptoms did not improve the following day. He paced back and forth in his hotel room like a caged animal, and couldn’t fight the images that were swarming in his head like a nest of bees. He was having a hard time focusing on what it was that he needed to do, and to help to clear things up, Trent began to talk to himself out loud, which also helped him to feel like he really existed in the world.

“I could just go home,” he said, hands on either side of his head. Trent slammed his hand into the wall in frustration.

“I’m not going crazy,” he then said. “I’m just freaking out. It has happened before, and it goes away.” After saying that, Trent could feel his breath begin to slow down. He had a seat on the couch.

“I need to know
It wasn’t the same person that he was used to seeing in that military garb. His body had been much larger and more imposing when he was at war, and he had lost a considerable amount of weight since the war had ceased. Even regaining his appetite and eating a fair amount of food at The Resort was not enough to put any more weight on his frame. Trent felt sunken. How could he possibly get to the bottom of what was happening, and if he did learn the secrets of the Paradise Planet, how could he - one sunken, defeated former soldier - possibly do anything about it?

His confidence wavered back and forth, but what pushed him ahead was the conviction that what he was doing was the right thing, whether or not he was even really able to accomplish it.

Just about to step out into the hall, Trent heard voices outside and took his hand off the door knob. He pressed his head against the door in defeat. If staff members saw him walking towards the forest in his uniform, they might be suspicious. Certainly, he didn't look like your run-of-the-mill tourist anymore, and since his symptoms had been so bad for at least a day, he also looked a little worse for