Your Ad Here

Friday, September 10, 2010


Another failed story, I felt really good about this one but I missed the ending hard.  I may redo it some day.  Tell me what you think about it and if you know any veterans or do have war experience please tell me about it, as I have never known anyone who went to war and as a result this is all just a product of my imagination and probably vastly flawed.
Sixty-three percent of all US deaths in Iraq have been caused by IEDs, so I guess what happened to my squad should have been expected.  I was a private, fresh out of training and ready to help free Iraq from Saddam Hussein.  The bomb exploded about thirty yards inside the city limits of Baghdad.  Isn’t that pathetic?  We died without even completing our first assignment.  Apparently, the bomb was buried in the road, so when it exploded most of our vehicle was torn to shreds and we were flipped several times.  I got a chunk of shrapnel lodged into my brain.
I died that day in Iraq. 
Or at least I wish I had.  Then I wouldn’t have had to live through this.
I am the last survivor of squad U-517.  Sergeant Patterson was the only other soldier to survive the explosion, but he died a month later to complications.  It’s funny that a piece of shrapnel in the liver would be fatal, but one in the brain wouldn’t.
I’m lucky, so they say.  Sure, there was severe brain damage, but it’s better than being dead, right?
Fuck you doc.
Right now I suffer from a severe speech impediment, my IQ is down to a level they call “Slightly better than George W. Bush.  And I can’t control most of my body.  Just imagine how you’d feel if they told you that you’d never be able to decide when you piss or shit again – it just randomly happens.  I have to wear diapers, for fucks sake.  I can’t get a hard-on, I can’t even move my arms or legs, and so I’m stuck riding in this wheelchair.  I’m a fucking paraplegic.
And to top it all off, she’s gone.
In the darkest depths of my mind on the darkest nights I dream of you, you soft, curly auburn hair, lilac scented, shimmering in my hands.  You pale white skin, gorgeous green eyes, lips, dyed violet.  Perfect, plump round breasts, you silky smooth thighs.  We kiss.  A kiss that lasts centuries, perfect.  We do the dance of love, our flesh entwines and we become one.  Ecstasy.  And then I wake from the dream, startled, crying, so worthless to this world.  You’ve moved on.  You has a man who can stand, who is still your intellectual equal, who can satisfy you in bed.  All the things I have lost the ability to do.
I feel ashamed my behavior that day.
I screamed at you, cried and shouted about how you had betrayed me when I needed you most.  You were forced to leave and I was given a strong dose of morphine. 
He seemed like a nice fellow.  You’ll do good by him.  I hope they’re happy together, but at the same time I want you.  I need you.  Your the one thing that could make this shitty life worth living.  You smile, you witty remarks and kindness. 
I still love you.  But that’s the past, isn’t it.
On to the future.
This is my final will and testament.  I have no material possessions any more, but all my disability pay shall be used to help other recovering soldiers.
That’s it, short and sweet.  Wish my life had been the same way. 
The nurse comes in, and I am prepared.  We’ve been planning this for months now. My regular morphine shot will kill me, and on further inspection, it’ll be revealed that the vial was actually filled with pancuronium bromide.  There’ll be an investigation, but I’ll be dead by then, so who cares?
Finally, after all these months, I can die.  I’ll discard this worthless body and ascend into the black abyss beyond human existence.  Or maybe not, maybe I’ll just be gone.  Either way, its better than this shitty life.  I think of you for the last time.
He hooks up the IV and the injection starts.  It hurts like fuck.  I can’t breathe and my heart hurts and everything in my body just wants to scream in pain but I cant even move my mouth any more and then everything begins to fade and thank god its finally over thank god everything is black and I cant feel my body anymore I love you.


  1. Good job. I thought you described his feelings very well.

  2. "free Iraq from Saddam Hussein"

    all the guys i know that have been deployed recently don't have anysuch grand illusions. they are there to do a job, period. doesn't matter what happens they just want to finish it and leave. the awful part is they look back after they get out and things they had blocked out start comming back. why did sarge have to die? it was his last month of 4 tours, and my first. ect

  3. Thank you for the post alaskan, its terrible that they have to feel that way.
    I'm really strongly antiwar, and I just wish there was some way to make it better for them...

    Anyway, next time I write a war story I'll keep in mind their memories that were blocked out returning.

  4. I think this could be longer. If he signed up to support Bush's war, then refers to him as an idiot, that change of opinion might occurred in steps that would be interesting to hear about, and could make a very strong statement considering the intensity of the story. I liked at the beginning, the realization that the narrator of the story was a dead person--but then you change it. You say he's dead and then he's not dead. that seemed in error. Maybe if he felt dead and that's why he said he's dead, that could be made clearer. Good work, keep writing, Dude.