@Lizzy_Ironcraft Here is the short story you're drawing an illustration for.
Story: For Lizzy only
My car moved along quite slowly. I worked part-time as an Uber driver in addition to my usual job of being a janitor at a nearby school. I needed the extra money to repair my sad car, which had been on the receiving end of many slights and unfortunate events recently.
My box with wheels eventually putters all the way to my latest client’s location. I looked upon the house I had parked in front of. A small, but beautiful house. Unrivaled in its simple beauty. Like a mother’s love, or a Thanksgiving meal. It seemed almost like home. Like you could just walk in and be accepted.
Within two minutes of my arrival, a man of the elderly sort opens the front door to the home I so admired. He positioned a grey-ish baseball cap on his balding head and carefully and quietly shut the door to his house. He sauntered down his driveway to my car and greeted me with a simple, “Hello,”. I exited my car and opened the passenger door for him. He nods in gratitude.
My client didn’t have much to say for most of our drive, but when we were about 5 minutes away from his desired destination he asked me a question:
“Miss, do you happen to know how many people died in the Vietnam war?”
“No,” I reply curiously. “Why do you ask?” Instead of answering my question, he answers his own.
“Over three million people died on that battleground. Many of the men on our side were slaughtered as they still clung to their choppers, so I was part of one of the units that was planned to be shipped off to Vietnam to die as replacement. We trained for a few weeks short of six months and were all packed up and ready to go. We had already sent our goodbye letters to our mamas. However, a few days before we were planned to be deployed, the war was called off.”
“Wow, that’s quite a story,” I said genuinely. I had never heard a story told to me with such sincerity before. His words told one story, but the man’s empty voice told another one. A story of missing brothers and dead friends.
“You know, I was a very lucky man. Sometimes people are very lucky, and sometimes not so lucky.”
The man’s story and my car stopped in sync, as we had arrived at his destination. A cancer center. He rummaged his pockets to look for a way to pay me, but I told him not to worry about it.