Re: Minifill 2/2 Warning for war violencestellarsaraMay 2 2012, 05:55:14 UTC
"It always starts the same way, with the sun blinding me and it's so damn hot, I usually wake up sweating. There's a M1200 tank a few meters away, and I'm trying to run to it, because it's on fire, but it's like I'm running in quicksand, you know? And the sun is so glaring, I can't see a damn thing."
Marcus's face contracts as though squinting into a blinding light.
"Sometimes I get to the tank, other times it ends and I wake up. When I...when I do get to the tank, I open it up, and..."
He grips the couch cushion with both hands, which appear strong enough to rip the expensive material open at the seems.
"The bodies spill out of it. There’s no telling if they're American or Iraqi, it's all just a blur. There's one...There's one body, and he's so young. So fucking young, and his chest is blown wide open. I can see, I can FUCKING COUNT his broken ribs. Shit." He wipes at a tear with the heel of his hand. "He has playing cards, you know, like the ones you play solitaire or gin rummy with, two ace of spades placed over each of his eyes."
Marcus sniffs, and Briggs is just about to point out that he is safe, here with her in her office on a rainy day in his home state, when he continues.
"And that's when I see him. He's just standing there staring at me, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I try to run to him too, but it's the same thing; I can't get to him."
Marcus is looking at the doctor lucidly now and Briggs is eyeing him back, curious.
"A fellow squadron member?"
"No, he's in civilian clothes. Ridiculous skinny jeans, in fact. Light hair, sharp gray eyes. A little on the short side, but he doesn't feel small. Sometimes I catch up with him, just like I do with the tank, but then he - he gets shot right in front of me, sniper rounds coming from all directions. And then I'm screaming my throat raw because he's coughing up bloody playing cards. More ace of spades. I look down and it's like they're coming out of the sleeves of my fatigues, all clean and crisp and ready for me to deal them out."
"Well. Your mind has quite a macabre but poetic way of telling you you feel responsible for deaths you had no part in causing."
But the flood gates are open now, and Marcus seems unable to stop himself from blurting out once more.
"I've seen him. The civilian kid. At the hardware store. I'm positive it was him. He's real."
For the first time in her counseling career of over fifteen years, not to mention the six years of post-bachelor education, Dr. Sonya Briggs is gaping unprofessionally at her patient, and thinking she may need to reevaluate her approach on this one.
Marcus's face contracts as though squinting into a blinding light.
"Sometimes I get to the tank, other times it ends and I wake up. When I...when I do get to the tank, I open it up, and..."
He grips the couch cushion with both hands, which appear strong enough to rip the expensive material open at the seems.
"The bodies spill out of it. There’s no telling if they're American or Iraqi, it's all just a blur. There's one...There's one body, and he's so young. So fucking young, and his chest is blown wide open. I can see, I can FUCKING COUNT his broken ribs. Shit." He wipes at a tear with the heel of his hand. "He has playing cards, you know, like the ones you play solitaire or gin rummy with, two ace of spades placed over each of his eyes."
Marcus sniffs, and Briggs is just about to point out that he is safe, here with her in her office on a rainy day in his home state, when he continues.
"And that's when I see him. He's just standing there staring at me, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I try to run to him too, but it's the same thing; I can't get to him."
Marcus is looking at the doctor lucidly now and Briggs is eyeing him back, curious.
"A fellow squadron member?"
"No, he's in civilian clothes. Ridiculous skinny jeans, in fact. Light hair, sharp gray eyes. A little on the short side, but he doesn't feel small. Sometimes I catch up with him, just like I do with the tank, but then he - he gets shot right in front of me, sniper rounds coming from all directions. And then I'm screaming my throat raw because he's coughing up bloody playing cards. More ace of spades. I look down and it's like they're coming out of the sleeves of my fatigues, all clean and crisp and ready for me to deal them out."
"Well. Your mind has quite a macabre but poetic way of telling you you feel responsible for deaths you had no part in causing."
But the flood gates are open now, and Marcus seems unable to stop himself from blurting out once more.
"I've seen him. The civilian kid. At the hardware store. I'm positive it was him. He's real."
For the first time in her counseling career of over fifteen years, not to mention the six years of post-bachelor education, Dr. Sonya Briggs is gaping unprofessionally at her patient, and thinking she may need to reevaluate her approach on this one.
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