ABSTRACT
It was three months since I had returned from Ramadi, Iraq, and two months since I’d started a full college course load to keep my mind off all that I had endured the previous year. It wasn’t long before I discovered that school wasn’t distraction enough from the images playing in my head. A montage of carnage was constantly on display in my mind’s eye, while at the same time I was listening to 19-year-olds yammer on about their opinion on the war—even though most of them had never left the United States, with the exception of perhaps Mazatlan for spring break, or the comfort of their parents’ pockets.
