I'm not a published author not a frequent writer since I never shared my work. But I am looking for a chance, for that bridge and push to cross it. " The door opens, a young man enters, drops of rain dripping from his coat. He doesn’t look around, he knows exactly whom he is searching for. He takes 10 steps, removes his coat and his hat and addresses the veteran. YM : I’ve been looking for you. V : (Silent….staring at the picture). YM : We need to talk. V: All of the sudden? YM : I didn’t come here for this. I demand (voice raised)….that you explain yourself (slowly lowering his voice as if acknowledging his mistake). V : (Still staring at the picture) No more explaining, I said my share. The young man, pulls out the nearest chair, sits and rests his coat and hat in his hands. YM : (with a lower concerned voice) You said…you told her…that she would hurt me. How? Why? The veteran lowers his head, sighs and then turns to look at the young man. Blank, unexpressive, cold…the eyes of someone who has known pain, misfortune, desilussion….without even a small glitter of believe in good. He looks for what seems to be an eternity but then starts to talk when the young man lowers his eyes, admitting the defeat. V : She will. I know it. Can’t explain it. YM : Please …try. I need more. V: I’m not an educated man….spent all my life fighting for other people causes. Death, blood, pain. But I…know people. And I’ve seen…that…before. YM : (enraged) I have no idea what you’re talking about. You…don’t make any sense. What have you seen??? V: I knew you wouldn’t understand. You just can’t….blinded. The young man seems powerless, he has no intention to continue, sees no point in that…anymore. YM : I’m done. He gets up…slowly from ding his chair, holding tight his coat and hat…the water now dripping more violently then before. He turns and walks….half the distance to the door….and then stops and turns YM : You…and me…we should have been more than….this. I’ve always looked up to you….waiting for you to return…to share…to feel your guidance , to feed from your experience. Long hours at the window, looking for your shadow on the pathway, startling each time someone passed by. Listening to the news in fear…more casualties on the front. Running down the stairways each time someone rang …then stopping, crouching and looking at mom’s shoulders if they would start to shake when she opened the door. Sundays…we would have pancakes...as you would have been there…your plate on the table. This was my thing…mom said it was crazy, but I wouldn’t have it otherwise. Crying each time the others played catch with their fathers….rage…why you and not them. Then hated you, when mom told me it had been your choice, it was your life. What about me??? In the end, I accepted…your non-presence. I made a life for myself…away from you…as you were away from me. He turns…waits for a moment…the veteran is still staring at the picture…but this time there is light reflecting from his cheeks.