Sometimes I Can Be Brilliant AND Forget About It (2)

ANIMAL. I am an animal exiled from the Garden of Eden, forced to live in uncharted territories unfamiliar to me like a new home in the suburbs, willing to kill whatever be in my way or in my own space. Voluntarily pulling the trigger to have my way and my right. Everything I could reach with my automatic was mine; little babies, small children, women that were mothers, sisters, friends. Men who stood their ground; Fathers, Sons, brothers. They were all mine. 47.
Beastly I was, untamed and firing at free will with people behind me feeling the exact same way a small boy feels receiving his first squirt gun; Powerful, holding an upper hand on the "enemy", mischievous, daring and bold. Everywhere we went I lead the pack like an Alpha Male marking the way for my followers, always getting a taste at the killing spree before anyone else could. It was like getting to the drinking fountain after school recess and having all the water I could hold inside my stomach. I couldn't wait to round a corner and see what I find inside just like the prize in the cereal box. Sometimes you'd get a really cool one, maybe even a double, and other times your left empty handed and proceed to pour it out in the bowl.
Relieved of my duty, I was back home where it all began. My fascination and drive, the thing that blazed the fire within me, blinding like gun fire, it was still here. But there was something else that came along with me. I could hear voices inside my head, faces of people I'd never spoken to every time I closed my eyes. Small taps and pulls on my legs that when caught my attention, I seemed to only find battle scars from bombings and the rapid fire games we challenged each other to do.
I couldn't sleep the first couple of days. The adjustment to the time change. But once I thought I could, I slept and only dreamt of the men and women I shot. The families I murdered for the "safety" of my country, the known vermin of the middle east, when really it was I who should have been squashed and left for dead, left to burn and smolder in the bleeding sun, left to crisp for natures decomposing squad to start their job. All along I had been blinded by the tactics, the silly ratio's, the insignificant tallies of things. People are much more significant then the last round in your clip.
I lay in bed pondering how I let this continue on? How did I manage to pull the trigger time after time, silencing my quiet conscience with the sounds of boys and girls screaming for their mothers as we trampled along firing at their agonizing, gut wrenching cries, pleas for help and safety, for a second chance at life, and I just fed them the bullet and moved on. Animal!
Tossing and turning all night as if enduring a never ending nightmare and the villain is me. I'm the one behind the mask, I'm the one inside the leather boots, bullet proof vest and the automatic. Call me mercy and I'll give you nothing close to it. Brutal and forceful was my way.
Staring at the ceiling unable to sleep because of the monster who lay inside me, I could see the skinny old man in black pajamas trying to run away as I shot him clean through. I still see his body freeze and plop on the floor like a glob of red gelatine just lying there swayed from shock and oozing out from small punctures made by a toddler. Only this toddler stood as a man, made from plastic, stamped with the U.S. brand and minted in the year 1976. I deserved to die as they did. I am now no better then a spider on a wed. Eating whatever gets caught in it. Not as before where I was a fly, a tiny little fly big enough to stick to the smallest of webs.
I'm no longer need to pull the trigger, or roll with the punches, I am no longer human, I'm a dirty old dog is what I am. Wondering about, thinking my own thoughts and saying, "When am I going to die?"
The pain that came to me was piercing as the point of a spear, it was a hit and run. I was down hard and fast. It hit me like a freight train bombarding my chest, weaving itself in and out on the tracks of all the people I had killed. I felt their pain and sorrow, their quiet pleas and whimpering cries.
Slow like a child I walked stumbling and falling faster then I could bring myself up again. Fall down 7, stand up 8, right? But I fell down again. I fell down, and down, and down, deep in the abyss of where the man I knew used to be. He sat curled in the corner of a dark room rocking back and forth trying to soothe the pain done to himself by someone he never dreamed of becoming. Alone we waited for some form of light to shine through our death covered window ... nothing. Only darker shadows crossed over, and over again.  Deep and rich tones of black came closer and closer. Trapping us in this cold, dark, empty, and hollow room. As I turned to see how the man was doing he was gone. And when I turned back around it was me who was sitting in the corner, soothing and caressing. Trying to feel any warmth but nothing could suffice. I sat, hands wide open, to see the hands of a cold blooded killer, all in the name of Peace.
What Peace brings you pain? What Peace brings you sorrow and guilt? What Peace brings you closer to the Devil and farther from God? What more can I take when I am NOTHING! I have no worth, no skill, no importance to this world. Nothing else to offer but my physical body. Battered and bruised, torn and broken, what more could I do?
I stand here on solid ground above you all, but the only time I'll ever be of worth is when I'm headed out to see what lies ahead in the other world. It'll take all but 5 seconds really, you won't miss much. Like I said what have I got to lose? My clothes, my shoes, my shirts, and you will lose a monster.
Are you happy now father?! Are you happy now that you'll never have to deal with my mistakes? Did I make you proud with that Purple Heart? Was it good enough for you? I hope you're happy to see the monster you enlisted disappear. No more will I wear your anger like a sweater. No longer will mom and my sister mend, and replace every patch and button. Father you never told me. At the dinner table some one should have told me, my time is over, it's time to take it off. This wasn't meant for me. When is it my turn? My time is now.

Sometimes I Can Be Brilliant AND Forget About It

So there was this one time where I was really into Sarah Kay. Remember that entry? if not. look it up. Anyways. I really liked her, still do actually. But I absolutely love her poem entitled "Hand Me Downs".
 As my junior year has come to an end and I have been ruthless in throwing my papers away, I stopped a moment to reminisce and read all of my writings from my Creative Writing class with the one and only, Mr. Rutter. He is a fine teacher. Kills bears for an entire week before school ends, driving his students mad with arguements about the stupidity of Newt Gingrich, Arguements with Rosemary (a lovely student intern) about the stupidity of movies and varies sodas. But none the less.. he is a great teacher. One of my favorites because of his sarcasm and his joy in making class fun with some light teasing.
BACK TO THE POINT~ I was reading my old stuff and came along this paper. One that I have no memory of writing. AT ALL.. I remember absolutely nothing from it. I think it was an in class stream of conscious about the man who shot the elephant, and how he felt bad as he saw it die and the people of the town were all rejoicing. (Have you read that? Its quite good.) WELL.. I'm going to re-submit it into the inter-web and then you guys can read it. The only reason I wrote this entry was so that you would understand why the next just starts as a long stream of conscious. Anyways.. thanks for reading. I hope you like it. AND .. sorry.. I think that I had sprouted off of her poem. so. listen to her poem and then read my next entry.. Yeah. It's not particularly happy.

-Ammonduh