Bulletproof
Written for: 
brigits_flame, May 2013, week 4
Prompt: Bulletproof
Words: 945
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: self-destructive behavior
Bulletproof
Jack was bulletproof. He didn’t advertise the fact. After all, that was how problems started. Still, he knew.
The only problem was that being bulletproof only solved things in case of being hit by a bullet. At least money wasn’t a problem either: he had the value of a nice house in Sussex on his bank accounts. That would last him a while and he could always earn more.
Jack’s real problem was the emptiness. No matter how far he travelled, how many people he talked to or drank a beer with, the emptiness was his constant companion.
Sometimes he drank a few beers or vodkas too many.
“The Army didn’t want me,” he slurred into the Australian backpacker’s ear. Andrew, or perhaps it was Jerry, shifted slightly. “I think I was too dangerous for them.”
A few hours later, he woke up in a gutter of Phnom Penh in a puddle of his own vomit. To his surprise, his money was still there. Jack pried himself from the ground and wobbled back to his hostel.
Jack dreamt of bullets. There was a loud bang and he could see the bullet come towards him in slow motion. His mother had always told him he watched too many movies.
He only called his parents to tell them of places they heard about in the news when he had left again.
“I drank tea with some really friendly men in Kunduz. Communicating wasn’t easy because of the language differences, but we got along well.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.
“Kunduz is in Afghanistan, isn’t it?” His father asked.
“Yes. The contrast between the mountains and the valleys is amazing, but the bus trip was pretty unpleasant. I’ll send you the pictures I took in my next e-mail.”
There was another pause.
“Will you be home by Christmas?” His mother asked and Jack could practically hear her lips were pursed.
“I might. I’m not entirely sure yet.”
Jack spent Christmas in a beach bar on Bali.
“Do you see this?” Jack asked, lifting his t-shirt to reveal the scar on his shoulder. “That’s where the bullet hit me.”
The Dane looked at it and frowned. “I always thought a bullet scar would be smaller, less sprawling.”
“Well, it entered at an angle and the hospital didn’t do a very good job of getting it out either.” Jack shrugged and took another draw on his cigarette.
Jack occasionally caught the bullet in his dreams with his bare hands or simply walked out of the way.
Other times, there was no bullet to catch. There was simply a bang and he had to listen to the screams. Those were the worst ones.
Sometimes Jack did return to London if he couldn’t get the right visa elsewhere. He never let his friends or family know. He stayed in a cheap hostel, wondering at the prices and left again as soon as possible.
After an unsatisfactory trip through India, Jack decided he had seen enough of Asia for now. He didn’t mind the ever-present dust or the smell of exhaust fumes or urine, but the sights were not what he had hoped them to be and the masses of people grated on his nerves.
Before he left on a series of flights that would take him to Costa Rica, Jack checked his facebook messages from a shabby sofa in the hotel.
Hey man. Where are you now? We worry about you.
It’s been almost two years and we were thinking about doing a little get-together to remember her. So if you want to come by?
Alice and the kids say hi as well.
Jack suddenly felt like punching the grin off Ben’s profile picture. He deleted the message.
In some dreams, Jack stepped towards the bullet. He always woke up before it hit him.
He travelled to Kenya without bothering to get malaria prophylaxis.
Jack was surprised at his indifference at what might have happened if a fellow traveler hadn’t given him the proper medicine and gotten him to a hospital when the shivering and fever started.
When he was finally better, one of the nurses handed him the forms to have him released from the hospital. “Who is Jessica?”
“Nobody,” Jack replied. He left as quickly as possible.
Jack flew to Prague and relaxed there for a few weeks. When he got bored of the city, he travelled to Italy and spent a few days exploring Venice and Rome.
He went bungee jumping off the Ponte Colossus. For a few moments, Jack felt like he was trying to catch a bullet. Then the familiar emptiness set in again.
Jack tried diving and water-skiing. He nearly ruined his knees with mountain biking.
Jack decided to join Philip, a German he had travelled with before, on a road trip through Argentina. Shortly before they left, they were joined by a third, Radek.
They drove through the wide pampas. On the fifth day of their journey, they came across an accident scene just outside a small town. Radek stopped the van and Philip and Radek hurried out to see how they could help. Jack watched the puddle of blood grow under the injured man’s head until an ambulance came.
That evening, they decided to spend the night by a small river. The three of them took off their clothes and waded into the refreshing river.
Radek looked at Jack’s shoulder. “How did you get that scar?”
“He was shot, though he never told me how.” Philip grinned. “He says that’s how he knows he’s bulletproof.”
Jack shook his head and took a deep breath. “My wife and I were in a car accident.”
brigits_flame, May 2013, week 4
Prompt: Bulletproof
Words: 945
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: self-destructive behavior
Bulletproof
Jack was bulletproof. He didn’t advertise the fact. After all, that was how problems started. Still, he knew.
The only problem was that being bulletproof only solved things in case of being hit by a bullet. At least money wasn’t a problem either: he had the value of a nice house in Sussex on his bank accounts. That would last him a while and he could always earn more.
Jack’s real problem was the emptiness. No matter how far he travelled, how many people he talked to or drank a beer with, the emptiness was his constant companion.
Sometimes he drank a few beers or vodkas too many.
“The Army didn’t want me,” he slurred into the Australian backpacker’s ear. Andrew, or perhaps it was Jerry, shifted slightly. “I think I was too dangerous for them.”
A few hours later, he woke up in a gutter of Phnom Penh in a puddle of his own vomit. To his surprise, his money was still there. Jack pried himself from the ground and wobbled back to his hostel.
Jack dreamt of bullets. There was a loud bang and he could see the bullet come towards him in slow motion. His mother had always told him he watched too many movies.
He only called his parents to tell them of places they heard about in the news when he had left again.
“I drank tea with some really friendly men in Kunduz. Communicating wasn’t easy because of the language differences, but we got along well.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.
“Kunduz is in Afghanistan, isn’t it?” His father asked.
“Yes. The contrast between the mountains and the valleys is amazing, but the bus trip was pretty unpleasant. I’ll send you the pictures I took in my next e-mail.”
There was another pause.
“Will you be home by Christmas?” His mother asked and Jack could practically hear her lips were pursed.
“I might. I’m not entirely sure yet.”
Jack spent Christmas in a beach bar on Bali.
“Do you see this?” Jack asked, lifting his t-shirt to reveal the scar on his shoulder. “That’s where the bullet hit me.”
The Dane looked at it and frowned. “I always thought a bullet scar would be smaller, less sprawling.”
“Well, it entered at an angle and the hospital didn’t do a very good job of getting it out either.” Jack shrugged and took another draw on his cigarette.
Jack occasionally caught the bullet in his dreams with his bare hands or simply walked out of the way.
Other times, there was no bullet to catch. There was simply a bang and he had to listen to the screams. Those were the worst ones.
Sometimes Jack did return to London if he couldn’t get the right visa elsewhere. He never let his friends or family know. He stayed in a cheap hostel, wondering at the prices and left again as soon as possible.
After an unsatisfactory trip through India, Jack decided he had seen enough of Asia for now. He didn’t mind the ever-present dust or the smell of exhaust fumes or urine, but the sights were not what he had hoped them to be and the masses of people grated on his nerves.
Before he left on a series of flights that would take him to Costa Rica, Jack checked his facebook messages from a shabby sofa in the hotel.
Hey man. Where are you now? We worry about you.
It’s been almost two years and we were thinking about doing a little get-together to remember her. So if you want to come by?
Alice and the kids say hi as well.
Jack suddenly felt like punching the grin off Ben’s profile picture. He deleted the message.
In some dreams, Jack stepped towards the bullet. He always woke up before it hit him.
He travelled to Kenya without bothering to get malaria prophylaxis.
Jack was surprised at his indifference at what might have happened if a fellow traveler hadn’t given him the proper medicine and gotten him to a hospital when the shivering and fever started.
When he was finally better, one of the nurses handed him the forms to have him released from the hospital. “Who is Jessica?”
“Nobody,” Jack replied. He left as quickly as possible.
Jack flew to Prague and relaxed there for a few weeks. When he got bored of the city, he travelled to Italy and spent a few days exploring Venice and Rome.
He went bungee jumping off the Ponte Colossus. For a few moments, Jack felt like he was trying to catch a bullet. Then the familiar emptiness set in again.
Jack tried diving and water-skiing. He nearly ruined his knees with mountain biking.
Jack decided to join Philip, a German he had travelled with before, on a road trip through Argentina. Shortly before they left, they were joined by a third, Radek.
They drove through the wide pampas. On the fifth day of their journey, they came across an accident scene just outside a small town. Radek stopped the van and Philip and Radek hurried out to see how they could help. Jack watched the puddle of blood grow under the injured man’s head until an ambulance came.
That evening, they decided to spend the night by a small river. The three of them took off their clothes and waded into the refreshing river.
Radek looked at Jack’s shoulder. “How did you get that scar?”
“He was shot, though he never told me how.” Philip grinned. “He says that’s how he knows he’s bulletproof.”
Jack shook his head and took a deep breath. “My wife and I were in a car accident.”