Trauma Therapy. Thursday 19th of September 2019 11:42:09 AM CDT *Comfy and lewdish story of a ex-military man and an anthro girl.* It was somewhere around 1800 you joined the army due to the national call. As enthustiastic you were to defend your country you quickly realized the mental imagery of heroism and glory was far from the reality you soon had found yourself in. The cannonfire, the men screaming while trying to hold their entrails from spewing out of their bellies. The sick and wounded keeping you awake even if you ever slept when you had the chance. The cannons tore to pieces half the platoon and the sight gefore your eyes never vaned. Deserters were hunted down without mercy. "Gasp!" You wake up in the middle of the night to the same nightmares. The cold and milky sweat covers your body from head to toe as breathing is nothing but shallow panting. Your heart is pounding. You're home, no more war. You're home, you keep telling yourself and finding very little consolation. You can see the moon from your window and the cool breeze it blows into the room from the said window. You sit up on the side of your bed and run your hand over your head. You had been nothing but a young lad when you joined the army and for five years you endured that hell. For five years it had been your daily life. It had made you robust and strong man but it had left you scarred from within. Only to add insult to the injury your parents had perished during your service. People around town nearby said it was pneumonia. What a rotten luck it was to got both of your parents. You had inherited a small fruit orchard from your deceased family and it gave you some income to keep you off the streets. Still returning from the war to a empty orchard after all those nightmarish years was pure agony. You: a warhero and a trained fighter were just a human shell with a painful burden. It's not the people you killed, it was just seeing the friends you had to see dying and share their last moments when they begged for help, prayed to any god before your very eyes and all in vain. You shake your head and put on some pants. You walk outside and gaze upon your property. The orange- and peachtrees waver slowly in the soft breeze, lit by the pale moonlight. A sight so peaceful it might as well be a dream, yet you were torn inside. Two years ago you inherited that orchard and ever since you had cherished your garden above all else. Keeping it and tending to it was the only thing that kept you from a total breakdown. You make your way, shirtless and handsome chest bare to a burial sight that was some distance away from the fruit trees. Two tombstones rested on the moonlit grass: your parents. They had been so proud of you even while they had begged you to reconsider. It's not that your had a choice on the matter, it was a nationwide call. You kneel down and try to recall their last words. You think it was "love you" and "come back safe" or something like that. War was the only thing you remembered anymore and the last thing you wanted to remember. "I'm so lost without you", you whisper. You despise yourself for merely drawing breath. You didn't deserve to live, everyone else did but not you. *Snap.* You spring yourself up and tense your muscles. You had heard of some vagrants scouring the nearby villages for whatever reason and you immediatelly connect that rumor with the barely notable snap of a twig. With sharpened senses you ponder if you should confront headlong whoever might be lurking in the shadows, or go and fetch your flintlock rifle from inside of the house. You decide you can handle it without firepower even while the said tool usually calmed down anyone who would gaze upon it. "Hello! Who goes by my property in the middle of the night?" Little less surprizingly you hear no answer. You can however hear distant footsteps, getting more silent by the moment. You run after them and it gets too dark in the shade of the fruit bearing branches to get a look at anyone. You arrive at the gate which you immediatelly notice hanging open. You always lock it so someone had gone through it mere seconds ago. You can spot no one in sight. You see however a bright colored fruit at the foot of the gate, that is illuminated it the dim light. You pick up the persimmon that clearly was from your gardens. You didn't really care if someone played a minor prank on you by stealing a couple of oranges but it was still rather rude. You would keep your eyes open in future and for once consider seriously getting a dog. You take a bite from the persimmon and make way inside. There you silence the voices again with the most usual method that is getting yourself wasted. 1. -Help wanted. The birds chirp happily outside your house and despite the fact that you woke up lying on the kitchen floor, the damnable singing was murdering your head. It was midday for certain. Judging by the empty winebottles scattered all over the tables and the floor, you had passed out somewhere around the sunrise. No nightmares at least. You sit and from that position you get up. You wipe the sweat from your face and run through the bottles which appeared to be empty. It was a shame indeed, you had once more drank everything. Usually you do 30 push ups after waking up but you decide to violate your routine that one time. Not that it was too uncommon anyway. "I need to visit the town", you conclude. You need to sell your fruits to the retailer, which was how you made your living. You couldn't bear the thought of sitting behind a stand all day and fake smiles to people. Therefore you earned less than you normally would have but that arrangement worked best for you. "It's that goddamn day again!" you cry out. You would have to take the damn harvest to town and get paid... while being hungover. You didn't like showing up smelling of old booze but you simply forgot. You had to get paid, there was no other way around. You mumble something incoherent and dress up before stepping outside. Your life was as it was, pick the harvest, sell it and get wasted, repeat. One of those days you would hit the bottom and stay there. With nauseating agony you make your way to your wagon which you had already loaded the day before. Four baskets full of your best products were waiting to be delivered by hand. The sun was scorching and you ponder if that short couple kilometers long trip would kill you of a heart attack. At least no more nightmares, you conclude. It's almost inviting. No more panic attacks either. "Fuck it, I'm a war veteran and still young", you swear and feel the manliness surging through you. The places you've been and lived to tell about it were nothing in compared to your current task at hand. Little hangover wouldn't stop you from doing your work. You grab the handles and lift. Hold on. You let go and go check the baskets. Four wicker baskets held within the literal fruits of your labor. Two baskets of oranges, one basket of persimmons and one for peaches. You could swear there was some missing. There WAS some missing. The basket with persimmons was clearly taxed by some unseen hand and it was visible also on the other ones too. You recall the thief from the last night which had pilfered your fruits. It was not a big loss but if you ever caught him you would have a serious conversation with whoever did it. Probaply some kids anyway who were too bored to do anything else. One shot in the air from your flintlock rifle would keep them away for good. That or you would contact the parents instead, that way there would be less any extra hazzle. One can only imagine what shitstorm would come from using a firearm on kids, even if you would only scare them. The way to the town was exhausting in your current state. Normally you would pull the fully loaded wagon with ease but all that wine you had poured down your throat last night could be felt hindering your stamina. People were greeting you happily which was normal. You were a famous veteran who liked to be left alone most of the time. That was not what you had expected when you left home to war but it could be worse, right? Of course people looked up to you for serving your country but those idiots knew nothing else. The retailer's store was of course on a steep hill where he kept his warehouse and place of operations. You pull with your last strenght the wagon on top of the hill and let go of the handles. Before you do that you make sure the wagon wont start rolling down the hill. The owner shows up in the doorway upon hearing your panting and other noices. "Anon, good morning to you." "You too, Evaldo", you greet back and wipe the sweat from your forehead. The midday sun was torture for every working man. Still it was nothing compared to war. As a civilian you could always stop and have a break but during your service it was not an option. Or was but that would end up badly. "What a pleasure to see your fine fruits at my doorstep. People around town say they are the best." That might as well be true. You took good care of the orchard for without occupying yourself all the time you would have another breakdown. "Do my eyes deceive me but are your baskets a little... unfull?" "I had a nocturnal visitor last night. No idea who it was but apparently my fruits were the target", you explain. "That is strange indeed. No interest in jewelry, tools whatsoever but fruits?" Evaldo ponders scratching the side of his head. "I was guessing some kids were having fun at my orchard. I think I'm going to get a dog soon. Then I would have some company and someone to watch after my property when I'm asleep." "Not a bad idea! I can point you to a good breeder, his dogs are the smartest I've even seen." "Maybe some other time but right now I wan't to get a shower. Do you mind if we speed up this a little? I got things to do at the orchard and being away from home after last night makes me paranoid." "Oh, not at all. Lets carry these baskets inside and I'll take care of the payment." "I'll help." After helping the old man with his freshly acuired fruits you make your way back to the orchard and ponder what would you do for the rest of your day. Your scumbag of a brain flashes an image of a bottle of wine but you know that would go down. If you made it a habit you would get wasted everytime you felt terrible, eventually you would be living on the streets and living on stealing. You didn't want your parents to be disappointed like that and leave their last resting place to some stranger. They were meant to rest with you at home. Not that you had much rest anyway but still. You take your wagon to the warehouse where you usually kept all the usables and tools or things in general you didn't have use for. It was a big gardenshed of sorts which housed all the needed to tend to your little treasure and the source of your income. You lock the shed and make way to your house where you recall the damn mess is still scattered around. Luckily it was just empty bottles. After that you decide it's time to make some dinner. The larder still had some good pieces of ham and mutton. As you go through your meal options and try to come up with a recepie for your upcoming meal you gather the bottles and place them away for later use, which will likely never come. Sure you've had the fleeting idea of making your own wine from the very fruits of your very own orchard but you'll likely expose yourself to an unwise opportunity. Why did such a simple chemical make you feel so good but also ruined you from the inside? The life was crooked to the bone. It simply gave you with one hand and took twice as much away with the other. The bottles were put away and feeling proud upon being already so productive today, you rolled a cigarette and placed in on your lips. You recalled you father and mother being very strickt about smoking indoors. Even while you were an occasional smoker you did understand the lingering stencht was somewhat off putting. You step outside and light up. As you breath the smoke and feel your lungs burning from the smoke and the heat of the midday, you gaze upon your pretty garden. The leaves wave in the wind gracefully and like always, you feel a moment of peace passing through your usually chaotic mind. You notice some movement in the canopy of the branches and you tense up immediatelly. It wasn't some optical illusion, you could tell the difference between those. In the war you had to question your vision time to time and you knew when you had seen something. Could the petty thief be so rude to show up in the middle of the day? Just who in their right mind would... You shake your head and toss off the cigarette lowering your stance as you make your way to the treeline. There you stalk and gaze upon the general direction of the assumed thief and try to get a glimpse of him. Apparently there was only one; nothing you couldn't handle. One lousy thief was no match for you and you would easily overcome him. The fucker had climbed in one of the peach trees. He was covered in the leaves and was clearly reaching to the juicier fruits that also were located on the highest. You sneak under the tree and make sure he wouldn't have any headstart if he decided to run as he very likely would. You place yourself directly under the tree until you shout "Hey!" "Shit!" echoes from the tree and it was clearly a she as she lost her balance. She fell through the branches towards you. You had no time to let it sink since she had nothing to grab on and the only thing between her and the ground was you. The pictoral series of thoughts run past your eyes, she would break her neck or back and you could be blamed for that. Before you even realize she was lying on your arms in the bridal styled position. You both look at eachother dumbfounded, you even more than ever. She was an anthro woman, not a human. As you let this settle you wager she was a jackal or something, some canine bloodline anyway and apparently not even much older than you, if not younger. The clothing was old and tattered but her coat was well kept and she didn't strike you as a homeless girl. She was looking startled and holding a peach in her paw. What was she doing with those anyway? You tilt your head lifting a brow at her without really knowing what to do. She makes it easier for you as she springs up and bolts to the gate with astounding speed. She doesn't even bother to open the gate as she jumps over it and within seconds she was gone. Only thing reminding of her is the peach on the ground and some snapped twigs from the tree. "What the hell was that?" you mumble and try to recall her appearance. There were some anthros living in the town but you don't recall anyone like her. Was she a vagrant? You pick up the fruit and go to the gate. You place it on an old stump outside and go back your property. As you ponder the strange and sudden meeting with this anthro girl you begin making your breakfast.