Post by Shizen on May 27, 2009 4:00:11 GMT -5
(Just a warning, I suppose. This would be among the Rated R category. All the makings of it at least. Language, pervasive sexual content and gratuitous hyper-violence.)
Hey you. You’re in the jungle, right? South of Nigeria with your war buddies, on some god forsaken mission for little bitches. Gotta be transporting POWs and cases of heroin. Shitty job, right? It’s been a couple days and signal’s been lost. Not good. All of you have been saying that. And the way everyone’s looking at you, big leader taking everyone on this trip. Couldn’t keep the sacks on everyone’s head, too hot in this damned jungle, too hot even for your buddies…and the heat is getting to everyone. Mostly you because you have the most pressure squeezing you here. You’ve got drugs. And I mean a lot of drugs. You have a team of six people including yourself. And then you have a shit load of people you have to keep a close eye on. All in all…this is not looking like the summer vacation you write home about. And of course you wouldn’t write home about it. What would you say? “Dear mother, Johnny couldn’t help staring at that little Nigerian girl anymore and plucked her from her daddy and now there’s some bad air between all of us. And Sam’s been dipping into our stolen cases of heroin and I’m damn sure the cartels won’t be happy when they find out they’re missing some of their stash. And if those babies don’t stop cryin’, I’m not sure my trigger finger can keep itself in check. All love, your Jackie.” No, that’d be a horrible letter to write.
So then you start getting’ ideas, right? These ideas are dangerous ones, because your CO is expecting fifteen captives, a little less given the fact some might try resisting. He’ll understand, hot muggy weather. Bot Flies. The jungle. Tempers rise and some of these stupid Nigers are just asking to be shot. You can get away with a couple and it might be just a good idea to shut everyone up and loose a little of the stress that’s been piling up. ‘Cause let’s face it…you’ve been dipping your hand in the cookie jar, too. Between the cryin’, the drugs, the rapes, and this fucking jungle, the ideas you’ve got are sounding better and better by the hour. You used to be such a good soldier, didn’t you? Sure you were! Taking out captain’s orders perfectly, no deviation. Things were goin’ great for you. After this little stint in the South region, you might have even gotten a promotion, move up the ladder. You could have had it all. But now? Now you start getting’ mixed up with Rodriguez, Rodriguez introduces you to Johnny and Johnny ain’t got a lot goin’ for him and his screws are a little loose, but Johnny was who you weren’t. Crazy, loose, would do anything just to prove he could do everything, no rules for Johnny, Johnny was too cool for that. And with Johnny came Sam and Sam’s friends were almost as bad. Now look at ya’. Just look at ya’.
And it’s not that you feel bad for what you’re doing. It actually feels nice. But knowing your success is going down the shit hole, knowing that promotion isn’t coming after you started racing Johnny in who could be the baddest of all, and especially not after a life time’s worth of bad urges have been coming up out of everywhere. Johnny was happy doing things like strangling hookers and raping women after taking down a village. But you. Look at ya’, ya’ big bastard. Setting men on fire, killing women, torturing the animals for Christ’s sake. You’re a bigger screw up than any of them and there’s no shoving those skeletons back in the closet. Someone’s bound to know already…or someone’s going to snitch. It’d probably be that little bitch Tommy who ratted them out first. Yeah, he’d be the one to screw everything up. In fact, you might actually still have a shot at promotion if this whole trip were to keep quiet! They’d understand some of the things that have happened, probably forgive most of them. “Oh yeah, locked up in a camp with the POWs, the things you have to do them, the things your buddies have to do, it’s all war. All’s fair in love and war, right?” But if they knew you ere doing it because you were either high or just having fun? That’s inexcusable. Timmy’s gonna have to go.
Now you bite down a little. You’ve got your plan. One of your bad ideas isn’t seeming so bad anymore. In fact, it’s sounding pretty damn good. Even if you’re the leader, everyone’s still responsible for their own actions and if Timmy squeals, you’re all gonna be in trouble. You know it’s not a good thing. You know it’s not the right thing. But you want to. And that’s the beauty of it. You don’t care. That’s always been a skill you had. No matter what you had to do, you could turn off caring about it. You’ve done all kinds of horrible things and left without caring about it. So things go great for the rest of the day. Johnny takes another little girl off and this time Sam has to shoot the daddy in the arm to keep him from going in after her. Sorry Pops, you don’t wanna see your daughter right now. She’s being a bad girl. But good god I’m sure she’s good. Sam’s off tasting more of the goods and everyone else is taking turns beating an old man just because it’s fun. Sin. It’s all sin here. And you’re reveling in it because you’re going to go farther than Rodriguez. You’re gonna go farther than Sam. You’re gonna go farther than Johnny and Johnny is going to love you for it.
That night when you all set up camp, fire’s flickering in the dark, lighting up the damned jungle and putting some color on everyone’s haunted faces, subtracting the six that are having fun. Food’s being cooked and you’re all eating in front of the prisoners, torturing them at every chance offered. You’re not so great with a poker face. When you’ve got an idea or a scheme, it shows. And so you’re taunting Timmy, being a prick to him. You’ve been a prick to everyone, but Timmy’s getting it the worst he’s ever had it. He’s getting called out for actually being a queer, making fun of how he always tags along with “Sammy boy”, how in the showers he’s staring at everyone. Johnny’s giving Timmy the eyes because Johnny’s a sick bastard who’ll play along with any joke, but Sam here. Sam is very angry that Timmy never told him he was queer.
“I thought you just let them made fun of you, Tim!”
“Sorry, Sam, I thought you knew!”
“Get away from me, fag!” Tempers rising again and this time it’ not yours. You’re cool and calm. Because you know what’s going to happen. You know what you’re doing. It’s all very technical and methodical and so far it’s working. It doesn’t hurt that Johnny’s fanning the flames by being an even bigger prick.
“Oh shut up, Sam, I’ve seen you go into Tim’s tent before!”
“Whatever Johnny, when? In your dreams?”
“If I'm queer, why’d I dream about you with another guy? ‘Sides, I do get up in the middle of the night to piss, just like you do. Only difference is I don’t go into some other dude’s tent to get my dick sucked clean, I shake it off like everyone else.” And silence. Until you break out laughing and point at the two clowns. Then everyone starts laughing because you’re the leader. Sam and Timmy laugh too because they’re trying to be a part of the joke, not just the joke. They were caught red handed and now they’re laughing about it. What good sports. But you can tell in that instant, you and Johnny changed something between them. And it’s only going to work for you. You’ll give it another night. Another night and then Timmy’s one dead son of a bitch. You might not even have to do the job yourself.
That night you stay up just to see if it’s true. Sure as hell fire, Sam’s goin’ to Timmy’s tent. Instead of laughing, though, this only fills you with more of a burning desire to get the job done. Burning desire. Burn this fucking jungle straight down and everybody in it. And then before you know it, you’ve spent an hour just imagining everyone and everything in flames. Destroying all this shit around you and just…going home. You’re caught between making sure you’ve got a glorious military career and just destroying everything you’ve worked for and disappearing in the flames. God forsaken jungle.
You turn over to go to sleep on the cold hard floor and you’re staring at one of the torches to keep animals away from the camp. It looks so very tempting. Burn the fags down and light up the prisoners. The fire’s almost lulling you. Your eyes are heavy. Fire dreams and burning nightmares are well on their way. The torch goes out the same time you do.
The next day isn’t so easy for you, you know? You know how those days go. Shitty sleep and then you’re woken up to Rodriguez telling you Johnny’s strangling one of the little Niger girls. Don’t you hate those days? You gotta get up in your pajamas and throw a soldier off a little girl and why? Why would Johnny take it that far?
“’Cause that little…little cunt bit my dick!” Sure as shit, Johnny’s pants were down around his ankles with a big red stain on the front of his boxers. There was no fixing this. There was no way you could explain this one to the CO in a way that he’d let it slide. No hope of “Oh sure, goin’ through the jungle with POWs, dicks get bitten clear off all the time, just throw some ice on it and get the medic to stitch it back on. I won’t tell you how many times I’ve had my own re-attached, hahaha!” No good times. No laughing. No cheesy sitcom applause.
Fuck. Fuck and sure you’d be the one on the brink of snapping at this point. You’ve got two choices that rapid fire through your head and wouldn’t you know it? You chose the worst of the two. And you know you chose the worst possible decision for the worst possible situation. But best of all it’s happening like a dream. Like Rodriguez never woke you up in the first place. You’re kicking Johnny in the face and knocking him flat on his ass while he’s holding what’s left of his dick. You’re turning around to Timmy’s who’s in the middle of the biggest “What the fuck?!” you’ve ever heard and you take his side arm. Sam and Rodriguez are grabbing your arms, but like all dreams, there’s no holding you back. You shrug them off, because right now you’re either very angry or you’re very focused. You know in your heart of hearts that you’re both. That’s what makes it so pleasing when you pull the trigger.
Tap. Tap.
The head goes flying back. Everyone’s screaming. Body drops and all is peaceful. Aside form the twitches. A third shot cuts off the screams. End scene…
…And into reality. Everyone stares at the dead girl. Johnny’s whimpering like a pussy. Your war buddies are confused as to who they should be looking at and take turns figuring it out. The noise clouds your head into a vacant white noise and you look at the gun. Hot metal in your hand. Most men would drop it. Not wanting to see an extension of their anger in its physical form. You took enough psych tests to know that much. But you’re not most men. You clutch it. You almost hold it to your chest. Instead you turn to Timmy who’s still shaking in his combats and you throw the gun at him. They know how to take care of a wounded soldier and a quick glance at your watch says it’s four in the morning. It’s another hour before dawn. You go back to bed.
And that was just the start. The rest is filled with the prisoners no longer content with calling you leader. They’re all saying shit. Everyone is hating you. Not Johnny though. Johnny is hobbling and leaning on you. He’s praising you. “You did good, kid. Did something I woulda done in the wrong way. Good job.” You don’t need his peace of mind for your own. For the first time since knowing him, you tell Johnny to fuck off. Johnny’s back in line with the rest of the group faster than tiger on a kill. POWs are yelling at you, the rest of your war buddies are resisting urges. Damn near had to get violent with Rodriguez just to make him get the prisoners in tighter formation. What a hell of a day. Those bad ideas are coming back. The real bad ones, you know? You want them all to just go away. You want this god damned jungle to go away. Fire and a hail of bullets would fix everything. It was so much that you just had to take a dip in the cookie jar. Of course that only made everyone hate you more ‘cause now they’re thinkin’ you’re worse than Sam. When it comes to drugs, you don’t ever want to be worse than Sam.
And you gave up caring. You know what your plan is and you have to get your head straight enough to make it happen. Of course all becomes a haze in a few minutes. Everything blurs and you find energy to get through the day on a little shorter fuse than before. Always the same, more energy but you’re leash is getting tighter and tighter. Soon it’ll all be a time bomb without a timer. And you know? You’re looking forward to it.
Of course before the world becomes a little less than a smear on time passed by, you remember thinking that trouble’s brewing for you. You don’t know why, but just maybe your war buddies already has something planned for you.
That night there’s tension. You know all about tension. But everyone is tense. It could be because Johnny is still sore about his lost member. His man down. It could be because Johnny’s been showing all those little girls things all hours of the day and night. Could be because you shot some little girl in the head and left a daughter’s body in the jungle. Could be because even your war buddies are hatin’ you about as much as everyone else. Either way, everyone’s divided and Johnny’s just looking for someone to take care of him. If people were cookin’ everyone else’s food, you know yours would be poisoned right now. That’s how thick the air is between all of you. Of course it could be because of the damn, fucking forsaken jungle choking everything around you. But you’re tense, too. You’re looking for a way to snap. Looking for a reason to kill without having to make it look good. The damned jungle could use some red to paint the leaves. You’re hating everyone for all sorts of reasons and you’re not sure if the drugs have anything to do with it this time. Damn prisoners are the reason you’re out here on this stupid mission. Johnny, that damn pedophile is gonna screw everything up if he doesn’t die from his wound first. Sam and Timmy are queers that have a grudge against you and with Sammy boy’s addiction, they’re gonna do something about it before you do if you’re not careful. And you just know Rodriguez and his brother are the weak links next to Timmy. And the drugs! All that shit is the bigger trouble to this equation.
No jokes tonight. No fun, no brothers in arms bull shit. You’re eating along. Everyone else is doing their own thing. Johnny’s laying in his bed miserable with a fever. You’re preparing for taking out Timmy. He has more reason to snitch now. He needs to go, that little fag. You know all this, right? So then it’s time to take action.
But wouldn’t you know it? Before your hand even hits the firearm you’ve been dismantling and assembling, the prisoners all start an uproar. Don’t you just hate that? So you rush out of your little tent and see everyone huddled together. A formation you’ve been trying to get since this mission started. Of course they’re not doing it because of your army buddies grew a pair and forced them into it. No, it was Johnny. Had to be Johnny. God damn that kid.
And so you go to Sam, Sam’s at least good for knowing what’s going on. Says it is Johnny, but Johnny’s not doing anything for once. Something happened to him. Something bad.
Johnny’s tent is covered in little dolls, Johnny’s laying there with his little toys hanging and swaying around him like a dozen shamans shaking wards over a dying man’s death bed. Johnny’s talking crazy talk, might be the fever. You put the squeeze on him, make him fess up. Firs off, what’s with the dolls, the one thing that you can’t get out of your head. Said he’s been collecting them like souvenirs from the mommy’s and daddy’s that pray his evil is absorbed into the dolls. Said they were to keep him in check so he doesn’t do evil to their daughters, took them into his tent so he could be reminded how stupid their beliefs were when he raped their girls.
Next question was what’s wrong now. Johnny says his fever’s too high and he’s seeing things. Saying he has fifteen little dolls hanging up in his tent, says there’s a new one and it’s way different from the others. You think they all look the same, but he’s pointing at the one placed right over his head. That’s sixteen after a quick count around the tent. Still didn’t look any different, aside from better materials than what was laying around for the prisoners to piece together. That’s when you had to bring in the expert. Some little kid, Nigerian boy who’d listen to the big men with guns. Says the doll is a doll of omens. Eats the fate of all those around them so there is no path for them to take. Bunch of horse shit is what you say. Johnny’s just gonna have to tough it out with his dollies.
But the fun’s not ending there, ‘cause Johnny says he swears someone else was in his room. Big and black and he looked like a shaman. A glance at the prisoners and you have a lot of big, black bastards to go through. Then everyone’s eyes on you. What’re you gonna do? “Huh, Jack? What’re you gonna do? Well Jack?” You don’t know. So much pressure. There was only thing to do and judging by Johnny’s condition, it had to be quick if they were going to find the right person. Unfortunately things never go the way you want them to. Ever since you met Johnny at least.
Everyone’s out there still scared shitless, huddled together watching the jungle. Eyes always on the jungle. Maybe they saw something like a tiger. They did leave a body to be picked off after all. The heat and humidity might make for scarce prey and so it could be possible they were being followed this entire time. Little girl might have made the predators think it was fine and dandy to waltzing in. What the hell is everyone’s problem, you tell them. No one can give an answer that makes sense, but the word beast keeps getting thrown around. You still have to be high off the heroin. Nothing is processing the way it should right now. It sounds crazy, right? Demon dolls and “beasts”, big black shamans? This is nonsense. You keep telling yourself it’s all nonsense. That’s when the flames around camp die out. The big torches that last all night, suddenly gone. The hot, muggy forsaken jungle has no wind to speak of. A spray of water wouldn’t put these torches out. What’s going on?
In the dark, you can feel eyes watching your every movement. Sure you can’t see an inch in front of you, but things are out there watching you stumble over yourself and it knows. Knows you’re an easy target. So you grab that little gun you had stashed away in your boot. Little revolver with a nice little .38 etched on it. There’s only a brief second of silence, just long enough for you to think that whatever’s out there, it’s going to keep at bay long enough for you to grab a light. But no, the moment’s lost when the prisoners scream. Bang. Bang. The jungle lights up twice, long enough to know that you just sent two slugs into the crowd. You can hear Timmy and Sam trying to stop you. Timmy’s to the left, a single fire work lighting up the jungle lets you know that Timmy won’t be around any more. Or much longer. You’re not so accurate when the lights are out.
Johnny’s in the tent screaming now, screaming his heart out. The prisoners are losing their shit, after all, you had to have shot one of them. Rodriguez is trying to take control of everything, Sam’s looking for Timmy and Johnny just will not stop screaming. It’s so annoying. It’s all too much. Too damn much. The fuse became a stub. All hell had already broken loose, but now there was a new devil to deal with.
You go to the first problem. Johnny. Bastard won’t shut up, but by now his screams have blended in with everyone else’s. Feeling your way and just using instincts, you get back inside his tent and you hear the gurglings of wet cries. But more than that, you can hear a wet smacking sound. You knew it was just some tiger. Some jungle beast getting into the camp. Those drugs have you way too tense. Then you hear Johnny, the last thing he ever says. “The shaman, Jackie boy…he’s going to eat every last one of us…” it was like an introduction. Because the next thing you know there’s a wet, hot, acidic breath all over your face. In your hair, your eyes, your nose, down your neck, everywhere. You get the sense that whatever this thing is, it’s much bigger than you and there weren’t a whole lot of things on that list. You taste what it tastes and all you can think of is death. It smells like death. More like decay, rotting flesh and life.
And then it’s gone. But that moment sticks with you. You stand there while you hear the screams heighten. You stand there while you hear gunfire from the semis. You stand there while you can tell right away, Rodriguez’s brother ain’t goin’ home. Neither is Rodriguez. Sam’s shouting out to you, but you’re gone, man. You know the feeling? Out of body experience. You were helpless as Sam fired off more shots before you heard steel crumpling and the slick explosion of bones. It had to be over by now. You were next. Everyone was dead. You knew he was coming and suddenly all your strength. All your resolve. Every last ounce of tension, pressure, stress and hatred for the people, your war buddies, this jungle, all of it. Gone. You were going to accept death. You realized what you had become. A monster. And that monster just killed all of your friends. It smelled like death and you had to taste that acrid scent in your mouth.
But then the cries of the prisoners burst out and you knew that what Johnny called “the shaman” wasn’t done yet. You heard something shouted in Nigerian before another shot rang out. Just one. There was a silence. A cheer. The little boy who told you what Johnny’s omen meant ran in, scared, but hopeful. Said his papa shot the beast and it disappeared like darkness hitting light. Bullshit, there is nothing on earth like that. “If there isn’t a body,” you tell the kid, “Then your daddy missed.”
And sure as the hell fire you are going to see, the jungle lights up in flames. Everyone is screaming. Always screaming, but now there’s this peaceful bliss to it. Seeing this jungle alight is a beautiful thing. And all the scrambling torches and the rolling lights let you see each of your comrades, all downed. All ripped open. Bellies ripped to shit and guts hanging in every direction. But not Timmy. Timmy’s down with only half of his face. Looking at the rest of everyone, you know Timmy went out far more peacefully. Johnny’s laying there, eye missing, ribs strewn about, bite marks goring open his body. Johnny’s not smiling anymore.
You walk out of the tent, stepping out of the way of the screaming torches. And there you see it. The big, black shaman standing in the center of camp. And he’s looking right back at you. It’s hard to see because the flames are always changing their lighting, but you can he’s got a weird mask on. Weird ‘cause of the shape. Like those old joker’s masks with the long nose. But it’s not a nose. It’s like an animal mask. And beneath that mask are the clearest as ice eyes you see. And they’re angry. The shaman’s a big fucker. You know that his anger is tougher than the tough you could muster if you gave your all. As all the torches slowly stop moving, their fits leaving them just plain bon fires, the shaman points to you with a weird hand and a weird finger and you know you’re the last one now. Those eyes don’t blink, your fate is sealed. They just narrow, you’re going to die.
“Tell them.” Is all he has to say. And the shaman disappears like darkness when you hit the lights.
“And that’s it?”
“I’m here tellin’ you, ain’t I?” Kids these days, always want more.
“How long ago was that?”
“Year ago. I told a small village in Africa. Had to run for my life because they thought I was trying to cover up. So I paid some kid to lead me up to Chad, told everyone I could find about it. One person said there was rumor of some black arts being conjured up. Something like hoodoo, devil arts an’ shit. I still don’t believe in all that even now.” Had to take a quick shot just to make the edges a little more hazy around the memories. “Anyway, got a flight up into Europe, went from Glasgow to Monaghan to here. A year of constantly remembering.” The kid’s sayin’ somethin’, but I don’t want to talk anymore. I did my job, I told him. He’ll tell somebody else. The story will just filter out into nonsense. I’ll be “some old drunk guy” again. Then I’ll just tell it all over again.
I pay the tab and manage to get out into the streets. I’ve learned to drink more than ever and I got pretty good at stumbling to the nearest park for a bench to sleep on. The air is hot and muggy. It’s humid here. Like the jungle. I can’t let it go. Even after I tell everyone…I always end up telling myself what happened. A year ago and it’s still all happening right in front of me. I checked the news afterward. Said the drug cartels burned down the POWs and slaughtered the platoon, animals ate them before they were found. So quick to cover it up and not look into it.
I deviate from plan and I wander down an alley, slump down. Sit and rest for a moment. Then I hear it. My own words. I was ready to die. Johnny said he was going to eat all of us. I was supposed to die. Johnny said. I just wanted him to end it like he did to everyone else. Why am I still alive? I put a hand to the wall behind me and steady myself. Getting up to go lay down again.
I go towards this little park I know, nice flowers, pretty grass. No play ground so I don’t have to see children. Children just remind me of Johnny. Just around the corner and there’s my park. I already see my bench and it’s free. Of course it is. All the others like me have respect for me being military. Ex-Military. To the world I’m not even alive anymore. But they know. They believe me. Of course they also believe in Big Foot and aliens who experimented on them. A commune of nut jobs. But they just don’t understand. How could they? I don’t want to tell people what happened to me. I don’t want to share my experiences like those fanatics. I want to be a part of that body count. I want to be the ghost I’m supposed to be.
Old reflexes snap on and I check around the buildings before laying down. Even hammered, I still have the twitchy nerves. But they did some good. There he is in an alley. Watching. Big shadow. Dark, but those eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like that. I run, trip, pick myself up and run again. “Why?! Why, you son of a bitch!?” I pull out the firearm from that night. The revolver. I still have three shots left. I still remember. Two into the crowd. One in Timmy’s face. Well now I’ve got plenty to waste that bastard! He lets me get close, but not nearly enough to see him. Every step closer is a step into the alley for him. Something tells me I don’t want to walk back there with him.
Those eyes just stare at me. “You could have turned the gun on yourself if you wanted to die that badly. Or anyone. Any way you wanted to die, you could make it happen. I gave you a potential to be destructive. You wasted it. Disappointing.” The eyes closed and I didn’t waste any more time. I took a shot in the dark and only heard ricochet.
Disappointing? Potential? He was right, though. I could have killed myself a long time ago. Could have killed myself when he gave me a job to do. I didn’t. Plain and simple. What did he mean about potential? What was disappointing? He wanted me to be destructive? I don’t understand. And if I don’t understand, then why am I going back to the park? Why haven’t I put the gun away yet? Why do the vagrants in the park keep popping up in my head?
I may not understand. But a soldier doesn’t have to understand the reason behind his actions. Or the commands given him. And at the core of it. I always knew I was a good soldier.
Hey you. You’re in the jungle, right? South of Nigeria with your war buddies, on some god forsaken mission for little bitches. Gotta be transporting POWs and cases of heroin. Shitty job, right? It’s been a couple days and signal’s been lost. Not good. All of you have been saying that. And the way everyone’s looking at you, big leader taking everyone on this trip. Couldn’t keep the sacks on everyone’s head, too hot in this damned jungle, too hot even for your buddies…and the heat is getting to everyone. Mostly you because you have the most pressure squeezing you here. You’ve got drugs. And I mean a lot of drugs. You have a team of six people including yourself. And then you have a shit load of people you have to keep a close eye on. All in all…this is not looking like the summer vacation you write home about. And of course you wouldn’t write home about it. What would you say? “Dear mother, Johnny couldn’t help staring at that little Nigerian girl anymore and plucked her from her daddy and now there’s some bad air between all of us. And Sam’s been dipping into our stolen cases of heroin and I’m damn sure the cartels won’t be happy when they find out they’re missing some of their stash. And if those babies don’t stop cryin’, I’m not sure my trigger finger can keep itself in check. All love, your Jackie.” No, that’d be a horrible letter to write.
So then you start getting’ ideas, right? These ideas are dangerous ones, because your CO is expecting fifteen captives, a little less given the fact some might try resisting. He’ll understand, hot muggy weather. Bot Flies. The jungle. Tempers rise and some of these stupid Nigers are just asking to be shot. You can get away with a couple and it might be just a good idea to shut everyone up and loose a little of the stress that’s been piling up. ‘Cause let’s face it…you’ve been dipping your hand in the cookie jar, too. Between the cryin’, the drugs, the rapes, and this fucking jungle, the ideas you’ve got are sounding better and better by the hour. You used to be such a good soldier, didn’t you? Sure you were! Taking out captain’s orders perfectly, no deviation. Things were goin’ great for you. After this little stint in the South region, you might have even gotten a promotion, move up the ladder. You could have had it all. But now? Now you start getting’ mixed up with Rodriguez, Rodriguez introduces you to Johnny and Johnny ain’t got a lot goin’ for him and his screws are a little loose, but Johnny was who you weren’t. Crazy, loose, would do anything just to prove he could do everything, no rules for Johnny, Johnny was too cool for that. And with Johnny came Sam and Sam’s friends were almost as bad. Now look at ya’. Just look at ya’.
And it’s not that you feel bad for what you’re doing. It actually feels nice. But knowing your success is going down the shit hole, knowing that promotion isn’t coming after you started racing Johnny in who could be the baddest of all, and especially not after a life time’s worth of bad urges have been coming up out of everywhere. Johnny was happy doing things like strangling hookers and raping women after taking down a village. But you. Look at ya’, ya’ big bastard. Setting men on fire, killing women, torturing the animals for Christ’s sake. You’re a bigger screw up than any of them and there’s no shoving those skeletons back in the closet. Someone’s bound to know already…or someone’s going to snitch. It’d probably be that little bitch Tommy who ratted them out first. Yeah, he’d be the one to screw everything up. In fact, you might actually still have a shot at promotion if this whole trip were to keep quiet! They’d understand some of the things that have happened, probably forgive most of them. “Oh yeah, locked up in a camp with the POWs, the things you have to do them, the things your buddies have to do, it’s all war. All’s fair in love and war, right?” But if they knew you ere doing it because you were either high or just having fun? That’s inexcusable. Timmy’s gonna have to go.
Now you bite down a little. You’ve got your plan. One of your bad ideas isn’t seeming so bad anymore. In fact, it’s sounding pretty damn good. Even if you’re the leader, everyone’s still responsible for their own actions and if Timmy squeals, you’re all gonna be in trouble. You know it’s not a good thing. You know it’s not the right thing. But you want to. And that’s the beauty of it. You don’t care. That’s always been a skill you had. No matter what you had to do, you could turn off caring about it. You’ve done all kinds of horrible things and left without caring about it. So things go great for the rest of the day. Johnny takes another little girl off and this time Sam has to shoot the daddy in the arm to keep him from going in after her. Sorry Pops, you don’t wanna see your daughter right now. She’s being a bad girl. But good god I’m sure she’s good. Sam’s off tasting more of the goods and everyone else is taking turns beating an old man just because it’s fun. Sin. It’s all sin here. And you’re reveling in it because you’re going to go farther than Rodriguez. You’re gonna go farther than Sam. You’re gonna go farther than Johnny and Johnny is going to love you for it.
That night when you all set up camp, fire’s flickering in the dark, lighting up the damned jungle and putting some color on everyone’s haunted faces, subtracting the six that are having fun. Food’s being cooked and you’re all eating in front of the prisoners, torturing them at every chance offered. You’re not so great with a poker face. When you’ve got an idea or a scheme, it shows. And so you’re taunting Timmy, being a prick to him. You’ve been a prick to everyone, but Timmy’s getting it the worst he’s ever had it. He’s getting called out for actually being a queer, making fun of how he always tags along with “Sammy boy”, how in the showers he’s staring at everyone. Johnny’s giving Timmy the eyes because Johnny’s a sick bastard who’ll play along with any joke, but Sam here. Sam is very angry that Timmy never told him he was queer.
“I thought you just let them made fun of you, Tim!”
“Sorry, Sam, I thought you knew!”
“Get away from me, fag!” Tempers rising again and this time it’ not yours. You’re cool and calm. Because you know what’s going to happen. You know what you’re doing. It’s all very technical and methodical and so far it’s working. It doesn’t hurt that Johnny’s fanning the flames by being an even bigger prick.
“Oh shut up, Sam, I’ve seen you go into Tim’s tent before!”
“Whatever Johnny, when? In your dreams?”
“If I'm queer, why’d I dream about you with another guy? ‘Sides, I do get up in the middle of the night to piss, just like you do. Only difference is I don’t go into some other dude’s tent to get my dick sucked clean, I shake it off like everyone else.” And silence. Until you break out laughing and point at the two clowns. Then everyone starts laughing because you’re the leader. Sam and Timmy laugh too because they’re trying to be a part of the joke, not just the joke. They were caught red handed and now they’re laughing about it. What good sports. But you can tell in that instant, you and Johnny changed something between them. And it’s only going to work for you. You’ll give it another night. Another night and then Timmy’s one dead son of a bitch. You might not even have to do the job yourself.
That night you stay up just to see if it’s true. Sure as hell fire, Sam’s goin’ to Timmy’s tent. Instead of laughing, though, this only fills you with more of a burning desire to get the job done. Burning desire. Burn this fucking jungle straight down and everybody in it. And then before you know it, you’ve spent an hour just imagining everyone and everything in flames. Destroying all this shit around you and just…going home. You’re caught between making sure you’ve got a glorious military career and just destroying everything you’ve worked for and disappearing in the flames. God forsaken jungle.
You turn over to go to sleep on the cold hard floor and you’re staring at one of the torches to keep animals away from the camp. It looks so very tempting. Burn the fags down and light up the prisoners. The fire’s almost lulling you. Your eyes are heavy. Fire dreams and burning nightmares are well on their way. The torch goes out the same time you do.
The next day isn’t so easy for you, you know? You know how those days go. Shitty sleep and then you’re woken up to Rodriguez telling you Johnny’s strangling one of the little Niger girls. Don’t you hate those days? You gotta get up in your pajamas and throw a soldier off a little girl and why? Why would Johnny take it that far?
“’Cause that little…little cunt bit my dick!” Sure as shit, Johnny’s pants were down around his ankles with a big red stain on the front of his boxers. There was no fixing this. There was no way you could explain this one to the CO in a way that he’d let it slide. No hope of “Oh sure, goin’ through the jungle with POWs, dicks get bitten clear off all the time, just throw some ice on it and get the medic to stitch it back on. I won’t tell you how many times I’ve had my own re-attached, hahaha!” No good times. No laughing. No cheesy sitcom applause.
Fuck. Fuck and sure you’d be the one on the brink of snapping at this point. You’ve got two choices that rapid fire through your head and wouldn’t you know it? You chose the worst of the two. And you know you chose the worst possible decision for the worst possible situation. But best of all it’s happening like a dream. Like Rodriguez never woke you up in the first place. You’re kicking Johnny in the face and knocking him flat on his ass while he’s holding what’s left of his dick. You’re turning around to Timmy’s who’s in the middle of the biggest “What the fuck?!” you’ve ever heard and you take his side arm. Sam and Rodriguez are grabbing your arms, but like all dreams, there’s no holding you back. You shrug them off, because right now you’re either very angry or you’re very focused. You know in your heart of hearts that you’re both. That’s what makes it so pleasing when you pull the trigger.
Tap. Tap.
The head goes flying back. Everyone’s screaming. Body drops and all is peaceful. Aside form the twitches. A third shot cuts off the screams. End scene…
…And into reality. Everyone stares at the dead girl. Johnny’s whimpering like a pussy. Your war buddies are confused as to who they should be looking at and take turns figuring it out. The noise clouds your head into a vacant white noise and you look at the gun. Hot metal in your hand. Most men would drop it. Not wanting to see an extension of their anger in its physical form. You took enough psych tests to know that much. But you’re not most men. You clutch it. You almost hold it to your chest. Instead you turn to Timmy who’s still shaking in his combats and you throw the gun at him. They know how to take care of a wounded soldier and a quick glance at your watch says it’s four in the morning. It’s another hour before dawn. You go back to bed.
And that was just the start. The rest is filled with the prisoners no longer content with calling you leader. They’re all saying shit. Everyone is hating you. Not Johnny though. Johnny is hobbling and leaning on you. He’s praising you. “You did good, kid. Did something I woulda done in the wrong way. Good job.” You don’t need his peace of mind for your own. For the first time since knowing him, you tell Johnny to fuck off. Johnny’s back in line with the rest of the group faster than tiger on a kill. POWs are yelling at you, the rest of your war buddies are resisting urges. Damn near had to get violent with Rodriguez just to make him get the prisoners in tighter formation. What a hell of a day. Those bad ideas are coming back. The real bad ones, you know? You want them all to just go away. You want this god damned jungle to go away. Fire and a hail of bullets would fix everything. It was so much that you just had to take a dip in the cookie jar. Of course that only made everyone hate you more ‘cause now they’re thinkin’ you’re worse than Sam. When it comes to drugs, you don’t ever want to be worse than Sam.
And you gave up caring. You know what your plan is and you have to get your head straight enough to make it happen. Of course all becomes a haze in a few minutes. Everything blurs and you find energy to get through the day on a little shorter fuse than before. Always the same, more energy but you’re leash is getting tighter and tighter. Soon it’ll all be a time bomb without a timer. And you know? You’re looking forward to it.
Of course before the world becomes a little less than a smear on time passed by, you remember thinking that trouble’s brewing for you. You don’t know why, but just maybe your war buddies already has something planned for you.
That night there’s tension. You know all about tension. But everyone is tense. It could be because Johnny is still sore about his lost member. His man down. It could be because Johnny’s been showing all those little girls things all hours of the day and night. Could be because you shot some little girl in the head and left a daughter’s body in the jungle. Could be because even your war buddies are hatin’ you about as much as everyone else. Either way, everyone’s divided and Johnny’s just looking for someone to take care of him. If people were cookin’ everyone else’s food, you know yours would be poisoned right now. That’s how thick the air is between all of you. Of course it could be because of the damn, fucking forsaken jungle choking everything around you. But you’re tense, too. You’re looking for a way to snap. Looking for a reason to kill without having to make it look good. The damned jungle could use some red to paint the leaves. You’re hating everyone for all sorts of reasons and you’re not sure if the drugs have anything to do with it this time. Damn prisoners are the reason you’re out here on this stupid mission. Johnny, that damn pedophile is gonna screw everything up if he doesn’t die from his wound first. Sam and Timmy are queers that have a grudge against you and with Sammy boy’s addiction, they’re gonna do something about it before you do if you’re not careful. And you just know Rodriguez and his brother are the weak links next to Timmy. And the drugs! All that shit is the bigger trouble to this equation.
No jokes tonight. No fun, no brothers in arms bull shit. You’re eating along. Everyone else is doing their own thing. Johnny’s laying in his bed miserable with a fever. You’re preparing for taking out Timmy. He has more reason to snitch now. He needs to go, that little fag. You know all this, right? So then it’s time to take action.
But wouldn’t you know it? Before your hand even hits the firearm you’ve been dismantling and assembling, the prisoners all start an uproar. Don’t you just hate that? So you rush out of your little tent and see everyone huddled together. A formation you’ve been trying to get since this mission started. Of course they’re not doing it because of your army buddies grew a pair and forced them into it. No, it was Johnny. Had to be Johnny. God damn that kid.
And so you go to Sam, Sam’s at least good for knowing what’s going on. Says it is Johnny, but Johnny’s not doing anything for once. Something happened to him. Something bad.
Johnny’s tent is covered in little dolls, Johnny’s laying there with his little toys hanging and swaying around him like a dozen shamans shaking wards over a dying man’s death bed. Johnny’s talking crazy talk, might be the fever. You put the squeeze on him, make him fess up. Firs off, what’s with the dolls, the one thing that you can’t get out of your head. Said he’s been collecting them like souvenirs from the mommy’s and daddy’s that pray his evil is absorbed into the dolls. Said they were to keep him in check so he doesn’t do evil to their daughters, took them into his tent so he could be reminded how stupid their beliefs were when he raped their girls.
Next question was what’s wrong now. Johnny says his fever’s too high and he’s seeing things. Saying he has fifteen little dolls hanging up in his tent, says there’s a new one and it’s way different from the others. You think they all look the same, but he’s pointing at the one placed right over his head. That’s sixteen after a quick count around the tent. Still didn’t look any different, aside from better materials than what was laying around for the prisoners to piece together. That’s when you had to bring in the expert. Some little kid, Nigerian boy who’d listen to the big men with guns. Says the doll is a doll of omens. Eats the fate of all those around them so there is no path for them to take. Bunch of horse shit is what you say. Johnny’s just gonna have to tough it out with his dollies.
But the fun’s not ending there, ‘cause Johnny says he swears someone else was in his room. Big and black and he looked like a shaman. A glance at the prisoners and you have a lot of big, black bastards to go through. Then everyone’s eyes on you. What’re you gonna do? “Huh, Jack? What’re you gonna do? Well Jack?” You don’t know. So much pressure. There was only thing to do and judging by Johnny’s condition, it had to be quick if they were going to find the right person. Unfortunately things never go the way you want them to. Ever since you met Johnny at least.
Everyone’s out there still scared shitless, huddled together watching the jungle. Eyes always on the jungle. Maybe they saw something like a tiger. They did leave a body to be picked off after all. The heat and humidity might make for scarce prey and so it could be possible they were being followed this entire time. Little girl might have made the predators think it was fine and dandy to waltzing in. What the hell is everyone’s problem, you tell them. No one can give an answer that makes sense, but the word beast keeps getting thrown around. You still have to be high off the heroin. Nothing is processing the way it should right now. It sounds crazy, right? Demon dolls and “beasts”, big black shamans? This is nonsense. You keep telling yourself it’s all nonsense. That’s when the flames around camp die out. The big torches that last all night, suddenly gone. The hot, muggy forsaken jungle has no wind to speak of. A spray of water wouldn’t put these torches out. What’s going on?
In the dark, you can feel eyes watching your every movement. Sure you can’t see an inch in front of you, but things are out there watching you stumble over yourself and it knows. Knows you’re an easy target. So you grab that little gun you had stashed away in your boot. Little revolver with a nice little .38 etched on it. There’s only a brief second of silence, just long enough for you to think that whatever’s out there, it’s going to keep at bay long enough for you to grab a light. But no, the moment’s lost when the prisoners scream. Bang. Bang. The jungle lights up twice, long enough to know that you just sent two slugs into the crowd. You can hear Timmy and Sam trying to stop you. Timmy’s to the left, a single fire work lighting up the jungle lets you know that Timmy won’t be around any more. Or much longer. You’re not so accurate when the lights are out.
Johnny’s in the tent screaming now, screaming his heart out. The prisoners are losing their shit, after all, you had to have shot one of them. Rodriguez is trying to take control of everything, Sam’s looking for Timmy and Johnny just will not stop screaming. It’s so annoying. It’s all too much. Too damn much. The fuse became a stub. All hell had already broken loose, but now there was a new devil to deal with.
You go to the first problem. Johnny. Bastard won’t shut up, but by now his screams have blended in with everyone else’s. Feeling your way and just using instincts, you get back inside his tent and you hear the gurglings of wet cries. But more than that, you can hear a wet smacking sound. You knew it was just some tiger. Some jungle beast getting into the camp. Those drugs have you way too tense. Then you hear Johnny, the last thing he ever says. “The shaman, Jackie boy…he’s going to eat every last one of us…” it was like an introduction. Because the next thing you know there’s a wet, hot, acidic breath all over your face. In your hair, your eyes, your nose, down your neck, everywhere. You get the sense that whatever this thing is, it’s much bigger than you and there weren’t a whole lot of things on that list. You taste what it tastes and all you can think of is death. It smells like death. More like decay, rotting flesh and life.
And then it’s gone. But that moment sticks with you. You stand there while you hear the screams heighten. You stand there while you hear gunfire from the semis. You stand there while you can tell right away, Rodriguez’s brother ain’t goin’ home. Neither is Rodriguez. Sam’s shouting out to you, but you’re gone, man. You know the feeling? Out of body experience. You were helpless as Sam fired off more shots before you heard steel crumpling and the slick explosion of bones. It had to be over by now. You were next. Everyone was dead. You knew he was coming and suddenly all your strength. All your resolve. Every last ounce of tension, pressure, stress and hatred for the people, your war buddies, this jungle, all of it. Gone. You were going to accept death. You realized what you had become. A monster. And that monster just killed all of your friends. It smelled like death and you had to taste that acrid scent in your mouth.
But then the cries of the prisoners burst out and you knew that what Johnny called “the shaman” wasn’t done yet. You heard something shouted in Nigerian before another shot rang out. Just one. There was a silence. A cheer. The little boy who told you what Johnny’s omen meant ran in, scared, but hopeful. Said his papa shot the beast and it disappeared like darkness hitting light. Bullshit, there is nothing on earth like that. “If there isn’t a body,” you tell the kid, “Then your daddy missed.”
And sure as the hell fire you are going to see, the jungle lights up in flames. Everyone is screaming. Always screaming, but now there’s this peaceful bliss to it. Seeing this jungle alight is a beautiful thing. And all the scrambling torches and the rolling lights let you see each of your comrades, all downed. All ripped open. Bellies ripped to shit and guts hanging in every direction. But not Timmy. Timmy’s down with only half of his face. Looking at the rest of everyone, you know Timmy went out far more peacefully. Johnny’s laying there, eye missing, ribs strewn about, bite marks goring open his body. Johnny’s not smiling anymore.
You walk out of the tent, stepping out of the way of the screaming torches. And there you see it. The big, black shaman standing in the center of camp. And he’s looking right back at you. It’s hard to see because the flames are always changing their lighting, but you can he’s got a weird mask on. Weird ‘cause of the shape. Like those old joker’s masks with the long nose. But it’s not a nose. It’s like an animal mask. And beneath that mask are the clearest as ice eyes you see. And they’re angry. The shaman’s a big fucker. You know that his anger is tougher than the tough you could muster if you gave your all. As all the torches slowly stop moving, their fits leaving them just plain bon fires, the shaman points to you with a weird hand and a weird finger and you know you’re the last one now. Those eyes don’t blink, your fate is sealed. They just narrow, you’re going to die.
“Tell them.” Is all he has to say. And the shaman disappears like darkness when you hit the lights.
“And that’s it?”
“I’m here tellin’ you, ain’t I?” Kids these days, always want more.
“How long ago was that?”
“Year ago. I told a small village in Africa. Had to run for my life because they thought I was trying to cover up. So I paid some kid to lead me up to Chad, told everyone I could find about it. One person said there was rumor of some black arts being conjured up. Something like hoodoo, devil arts an’ shit. I still don’t believe in all that even now.” Had to take a quick shot just to make the edges a little more hazy around the memories. “Anyway, got a flight up into Europe, went from Glasgow to Monaghan to here. A year of constantly remembering.” The kid’s sayin’ somethin’, but I don’t want to talk anymore. I did my job, I told him. He’ll tell somebody else. The story will just filter out into nonsense. I’ll be “some old drunk guy” again. Then I’ll just tell it all over again.
I pay the tab and manage to get out into the streets. I’ve learned to drink more than ever and I got pretty good at stumbling to the nearest park for a bench to sleep on. The air is hot and muggy. It’s humid here. Like the jungle. I can’t let it go. Even after I tell everyone…I always end up telling myself what happened. A year ago and it’s still all happening right in front of me. I checked the news afterward. Said the drug cartels burned down the POWs and slaughtered the platoon, animals ate them before they were found. So quick to cover it up and not look into it.
I deviate from plan and I wander down an alley, slump down. Sit and rest for a moment. Then I hear it. My own words. I was ready to die. Johnny said he was going to eat all of us. I was supposed to die. Johnny said. I just wanted him to end it like he did to everyone else. Why am I still alive? I put a hand to the wall behind me and steady myself. Getting up to go lay down again.
I go towards this little park I know, nice flowers, pretty grass. No play ground so I don’t have to see children. Children just remind me of Johnny. Just around the corner and there’s my park. I already see my bench and it’s free. Of course it is. All the others like me have respect for me being military. Ex-Military. To the world I’m not even alive anymore. But they know. They believe me. Of course they also believe in Big Foot and aliens who experimented on them. A commune of nut jobs. But they just don’t understand. How could they? I don’t want to tell people what happened to me. I don’t want to share my experiences like those fanatics. I want to be a part of that body count. I want to be the ghost I’m supposed to be.
Old reflexes snap on and I check around the buildings before laying down. Even hammered, I still have the twitchy nerves. But they did some good. There he is in an alley. Watching. Big shadow. Dark, but those eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like that. I run, trip, pick myself up and run again. “Why?! Why, you son of a bitch!?” I pull out the firearm from that night. The revolver. I still have three shots left. I still remember. Two into the crowd. One in Timmy’s face. Well now I’ve got plenty to waste that bastard! He lets me get close, but not nearly enough to see him. Every step closer is a step into the alley for him. Something tells me I don’t want to walk back there with him.
Those eyes just stare at me. “You could have turned the gun on yourself if you wanted to die that badly. Or anyone. Any way you wanted to die, you could make it happen. I gave you a potential to be destructive. You wasted it. Disappointing.” The eyes closed and I didn’t waste any more time. I took a shot in the dark and only heard ricochet.
Disappointing? Potential? He was right, though. I could have killed myself a long time ago. Could have killed myself when he gave me a job to do. I didn’t. Plain and simple. What did he mean about potential? What was disappointing? He wanted me to be destructive? I don’t understand. And if I don’t understand, then why am I going back to the park? Why haven’t I put the gun away yet? Why do the vagrants in the park keep popping up in my head?
I may not understand. But a soldier doesn’t have to understand the reason behind his actions. Or the commands given him. And at the core of it. I always knew I was a good soldier.