Friday, October 2, 2009


I'm not taking MY sneakers off... NEAH! Anyway, let's get back to the story...

January 29th, 2006
And now in the blink of an eye, I'm back in Kuwait... I'm running through that village like a madman, not having any control over my body, just doing things by instinct... kind of the opposite of battle fatigue, bloodlust, not thinking, trying to think, doing things I didn't know I could or would do... kicking down doors, blasting up anything that moved, even killing a few civilians... shit. Then I see Teddy take one in the side, and another in the chest... oh god, not Ted... not another dead friend... I see the Iraqi that shot him and I run up to him and crack him over the head with the butt of my rifle... I see the blood dripping down his forehead and only feel satisfaction... I drop my rifle and punch him in the face with my bare hands... again and again... and I don't stop... like I said, no control over my body... just whacking him and whacking him as hard as I can... he feebly tries to defend himself by holding up his hands in front of his face, but i just grab him by the shirt, pull him up and keep hitting him... his jacket is soaked with blood, and so is my fist, but I just keep hitting him... he tries to get away, but i go after him and slam him down onto the ground... as soon as I know it the other men from my platoon are there, at least five of them holding me back, five more running over to help that poor guy, and I just keep pulling at them and trying to break free, screaming, yelling, my eyes wild and bloodshot, struggling to break free, fighting my unit, hoping on my adrenaline rushing through me to give me strength to break loose and beat on him again... holy crap, what am I doing? Then, CRACK! I feel pain, except not really, and I come crashing to the ground... and then, right when I go unconscious in my weird coma world, I come conscious in the real world...
"Hell, this guy is a tough one!" I hear my doctor yell. He looks at me. "You've got some heart there, buddy. One second, your perfectly fine, and then your vitals flatline, just like that, then your heart starts beating like crazy! It keeps doing that over and over again!" he's young, I'm guessing about mid-twenties, and seems really excited. I try to get off the bed, but a screaming pain inside my chest tells me not to... I open my shirt, only to find my entire body wrapped in gauss. What happened? I look at my right fist. The knuckles are still gnarled and misshapen... that was one hell of a day. The heart monitor goes back to normal again, and one by one the doctors leave. Each one asks me a few questions about my health and crap like that, and then, eventually, they all leave... and the room is empty... including me... It feels like I'm not quite there, it feels like I'm somewhere else, whether its in the Middle East or my apartment in Toronto... I'm defiantly not in this hospital bed.
February 7th, 2006
I've been recovering in the hospital for a while, and the doctor says I'm 'all stitched up and better', so three officers eve so kindly escorted me to the nearest police station. Questioning time.
"And so, let me ask you, why are you doing this in the first place?" asks one of the cops. I dunno, I reply, but I know thats not true. It's just something about leaving a dead man's wishes untended seems immoral, even if you didn't even know the person. It's just... wrong. "So you have no motives at all?" the second cop asks. Nope, I say, and before I can say slinky I'm in a jail cell, and before I can say slink I'm thinking up an escape plan.

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