They tell me the war is won, that I was some kind of chosen one. I do not feel like the victor. There lies this inescapable feeling, a hollow ache inside. The pills were tough, but I have felt worse. Beams fired towards me as I lay beneath, as my heart gently beats. I lost no hair. I lost no weight. My face and skin stay clear of grate. Children, Elders, families, they all gambled with surgeries fate. What makes me different? Why do I remain so free? Why does this victory seem so empty to me? That little girl who wheeled on by, why was she the failure compared to I? My heart weighs with guilt for winning a war I did not even feel. Every week. Every day. Every minute. Why did it have to be me, crossing the lonely line back into reality? It should have been Jeana, Stephan, Jamie... It could have been anyone. Anyone but me.