"Don’t look at me like that."
“Sorry, sir.” Upham murmured, then turned his eyes toward a rat gathering moldy hay in the corner and held back a quiet sigh. He hadn’t meant for his stare to be so pointed as he studied the face of his commanding officer in the dim light (not that he’d even meant for it to be noticed at all).
Some uncannily relevant saying hovered at the edge of Tim’s memory as he watched the small rodent make its way along the edge of the wall. What was it? Something by Nietzsche, he knew that much–
Es gibt eine Unschuld der Bewunderung. That was it. There is an innocence to admiration - and he’d lost it in a spectacular fashion this afternoon.
Miller had seemed like a good person. He was well-educated and kind enough and he was certainly levelheaded – and yet, he apparently had no problem with executing a man who had surrendered, either. None of them did.
A sense of hollowness grew in his chest at the thought and joined the dull ache that until now had always been accompanied by tears. Had he watched Wade die a day ago, maybe two, Tim had no doubt that he would’ve wept, but it was as if he’d lost the ability. He was too tired. Instead, he just settled for letting the heaviness overcome him without any kind of fight.
The hay around him rustled as Upham shifted and leaned against the rotting boards at his side, closing his eyes. He needed to sleep, even if every nerve in his body crackled with nervous energy.