The last rays of sunlight barely pierced the gloom; He'd been sitting statue still, lost in thought for hours. The gloom matched his mood, eyes struggled to make out details and his mind struggled too; Dark days.

A cold coffee sat on the table as untouched as the sandwich made hours before. No appetite, no thirst, no way out...Then the light came on, the sensor picking up his movement as he shuffled in his chair. The room flooded with light and he found himself looking directly at the refrigerator door and as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness he saw...

...Sabre sitting on the tailgate next to dad like he used to do, loyal as always; Damn he missed that dog, the best he'd ever had. Beside was his cousin that day he'd fallen into the creek; He was mad but they'd laughed so much they cried. He saw that day he'd shipped out, uniform pressed, standing beside his dad who was as proud as a dad could be. The love-heart shaped invitation partially covered that photo and his eyes focused to read the date; Next week. Another of his buddies getting married.

The light went off plunging the room into darkness; No movement.

He sat for a second, falling back into the abyss that seemed to be her resided these days, but he wanted to see the pictures again, the memories, and after a few waves of his arm the light came on once more...

There he was at nine with a baseball mitt on, a too-big-for-his-head cap sitting at a jaunty angle. He'd missed every swing that day, but his dad still cheered and took him for ice cream afterwards. We'll practice that swing this week son, we don't quit, his dad had said as they spooned ice cream into their mouths. Eyes shifted to the day he'd run track as a Senior; They snapped the shot as he crossed the line and everyone cheered loudly that day as he'd taken first place. Rebecca and him at prom...He smiled at that memory of that night, she was a spirited thing.

He could still see the image of him and Rebecca in his mind when the light went off again and this time he immediately waved and arm. Darkness wasn't what he wanted right now. He found he wanted to remember, and the pictures helped him do that.

He looked at the life that hung there, held by magnets and tape, in a haphazard, disorganised manner. It struck him that his entire life was on that door. Post cards from his best friend when he was in South America, his first day at school, the last picture he had of his father and him together the day he'd rolled out of hospital and the one of him and his cousins at his dad's funeral. Forgotten memories from other places and times hanging side by side, wrapping around the edges and overlapping each other on the refrigerator door.

That's my life, he said out loud to no one as he waved his arm around once more for the light. All those pictures, notes and scribbles...My life is on that door. And then he fell silent.

His gaze fell on the photo of his unit whilst on their third deployment, the day before it happened. His buddy insisted they all put on their war faces and looking at it now he thought they looked like idiots, but at the time? The coolest thing ever...

The next day he'd stepped on that roadside mine.

A medivac to base and three three operations in a military hospital in Germany had saved his life. Finally he made it Stateside for more operations. He'd been saved, but not his legs. It was two months after stepping on that IED he found out three of his team were killed that day. Sometimes he thought they were the lucky ones; What was life without mobility?

That's how he found himself sitting in his kitchen pondering life in the dark. Life without legs.

He looked at the refrigerator door and the life that played out there...He turned his chair and wheeled over taking the picture of his unit, that self-professed band of brothers, and studied it. A smile touched his face as the details of their war faces became more apparent. Idiots, he thought.

They'd felt invincible; A by-product of youth and effective training; But clearly they weren't. He looked at those men whose lives ended that day and wondered why he survived and they didn't; Living life in a chair seemed a poor reward though, a poor excuse for life.

He replaced the picture right beside the one of his dad pushing him in his chair on discharge from hospital and his eyes lingered on it.

His dad smiled when his cousin took it but he was hurting, that was plain to see; His boy would never play ball again and never run track or walk again, but he was alive and so he'd smiled. After the photo was taken he'd said, you're my boy, you'll always be my boy no matter what. We'll make this work, together, you and I. We don't quit son.

Six months later he was gone and the darkness had descended...He missed his dad who made his disability tolerable, but his words never quit echoed in his head...

He wheeled his chair and nodded almost imperceptibly as if deciding a course of action...Not today demons, you'll not take me today. We don't quit, right dad?

[A fiction inspired by the prompt: Refrigerator door.]

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