End of the Year

"Last Christmas Eve I threw my wedding ring off the 14 July bridge and into the Tigris River. I was standing mid span the water, thick with silt and mud, drifted slowly past in a circle of light cast by a spotlight aimed at the water.
I was gunning that night so I wasn’t wearing my chest rig, just body armor to better fit in the turret, or jump out in the event of a rollover or the vehicle was burning and for some odd reason I had survived. I stood at the rail, helmet off, looking at the water, tapping the ring against the metal. The bridge had been recently repainted a green that looked like it belonged on a barn.
I had been thinking about doing this for awhile now, been meaning to do it, but kept on forgetting. Tonight was probably the last chance I would get to do this, my last trip to the IZ, so it was now or never. The fact that it was Christmas Eve really meant noting, nothing significant, no special meaning.
So I threw the ring, spinning and flashing in the floodlight, in and out of the shadows, twisting in the black like a cast off piece of space junk, until it plops into the muddy water and sinks out of sight."
This is Your War II