His feet weren\'t going where he told them too!!! It was cold, so cold, and even though he knew where he was going, an advantage over most, he couldn\'t shake off the morbid feeling of doom, no matter how hard he tried.
Guns were sounding in the distance, and although he was well away from the fighting, he was panicking. Amidst the feelings of doom and panic, he was confused. It wasn\'t even this bad on the front line!! Why was he feelign this way? Was his gut telling him the truth?
As if out of nowhere, a man dropped out of the tree above him in a shower of leaves and twigs, and with an evil grin, blew him up.
The old man sat up in his bed, waking with a start. For a moment, he was slightly disorientated. The adrenalin was still coursing through his body like a fire out of control. With a few breaths, he tried to calm himself.
The old dream, he thought. I will never forget it, it will never let me out of its steely indifferent grasp.
The veteran, who went by the name of David, was an old man now. His youth had deserted him, the war had aged him. He couldn\'t fight the dreams like he used to. But he did have wisdom and experience on his side, though he was hard-pressed to figure out how that could help. He cast around for another subject.
His mother\'s mother was Welsh. His mother had brought him up Welsh, her name for him had been \'Daffyd\'. He wondered why he remembered that. He was confused, he didn\'t know what he was feeling or why. He shook his head, and with some small sense of purpose, climbed out of bed.
He had decided to walk down to the beach, which was only a street away, to clear his head. He knew not why he would do this, his worst memories were of a beach. He figured he was \'confronting his fears\' like they do in the stories. It could work, stranger things had happened.
David reached the beach, and made his way to the cliff that he had always...