The Colonel

As evening fell, a gentle breeze drifted through the windows of the shelter’s main hall. The nurse entered at that hour, armed with several bottles of pills on a metal tray, a glass pitcher of water, a syringe, and disposable cups. The task took her several minutes as she made her way to the residents’ stations, taking special care to ensure they actually swallowed their medication. Her temperament was stern and she rarely gave in to trust; she didn’t usually converse with them, except for the colonel. He, on the other hand, evoked a particular empathy in her, perhaps because they shared a similar character or because of the upright and proud posture he adopted when she approached him. The colonel, retired from active duty, had been at the shelter for some twenty years and, unlike the others, had admitted himself voluntarily. This occurred after he survived an attack by a thug who broke into his home to rob him; on that occasion, the colonel managed to turn the tide by setting fire to the room and crawling out, burned but alive. The police couldn’t identify the criminal because of the state of his burns; but, to protect himself from the revenge of his henchmen, the colonel arrived at the hospice with his suitcase two days after the incident. This event filled him with unparalleled pride, so he demanded to be addressed as Colonel, even though there he was just another old man. This time, the nurse had to administer an injection recommended by the institute’s doctor. She took his arm, rolled up his shirt sleeve, and inserted the needle into the bluish vein. The colonel submitted silently and returned the smile the woman offered him while avoiding looking at the procedure; however, he noticed her start when she recognized the criminal tattoo on his arm. Instinctively, the man fixed a wicked look on the nurse’s eyes, and she, for the first time, feared for her life. It was exactly the same look as the man who had usurped the colonel’s identity on the fateful day he broke into his house to rob him.