(no subject)
Most of them would never get graves. Not real ones. The jungle was their cemetery. He never wanted that for himself. His superiors called him foolhardy because he seemed to throw himself onto the sword again and again, taking bullets for his comrades, taking point, volunteering to do the mine sweep. The truth was, he was terrified of dying. He was young, barely past twenty-two, and he didn’t want to die. There was nothing in a grave that appealed to him. Their graves were swamps and crashing rivers and the vine covered jungle floor, the only marker the dark stain of blood.
He would dream of the earth opening up and swallowing them all whole, slurping them down into the graves that waited for them. He would wake to the sound of gunshots and a scream. Another one gone. He would feel it run through his veins, seep into his bones; the fear of death. He wanted a grave of stone, not mud.
50scenes
#02 - Grave
164
--
The glory was in coming home and having his grandmother wrap her arms around him. “Estoy muy orgulloso de ti,” she’d say into his ear as she rocked him. I am so proud of you. The glory was driving to the family’s apartment from the airport and knowing that he never had to be like those guys standing on the corner, staring out at nothing as though they’d just seen all the opportunity they would ever have pass them by. So close. He’d come so dangerously close to that and the thought made him hug his mother even tighter, pressing kisses to her hair and whispering how all he ever wanted to do was be the best son he could.
His friends talked about the glory of serving their country, of being a hero back home. The glory of killing men who deserved killing. They would tell their stories and look at him expectantly, waiting to hear his, but he would shrug instead. “Too fucking humble for his own good,” they’d tease, prodding him with the butts of their assault rifles, “come on Ranger. Best story. We know you’ve got them.”
He wouldn’t respond. He’d figured out a way to just smile that would make them laugh again, but leave him alone. “His stories are too fucked up,” they’d joke as they walked away. It was better that way, not because his stories were worse than theirs, but because the glory was in seeing his sisters beam when he walked through the front door, then telling their friends about their brave brother who wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life in prison. He was Ranger now, he would tell his old high school friends who came asking when he was going to get out of the military and join a gang, which was where he belonged. He was Ranger now. He’d left Carlos back on the corner with those vacant eyed boys, watching dumbly as their lives trickled into the storm drain.
50scenes
#06 - Glory
334
He would dream of the earth opening up and swallowing them all whole, slurping them down into the graves that waited for them. He would wake to the sound of gunshots and a scream. Another one gone. He would feel it run through his veins, seep into his bones; the fear of death. He wanted a grave of stone, not mud.
50scenes
#02 - Grave
164
--
The glory was in coming home and having his grandmother wrap her arms around him. “Estoy muy orgulloso de ti,” she’d say into his ear as she rocked him. I am so proud of you. The glory was driving to the family’s apartment from the airport and knowing that he never had to be like those guys standing on the corner, staring out at nothing as though they’d just seen all the opportunity they would ever have pass them by. So close. He’d come so dangerously close to that and the thought made him hug his mother even tighter, pressing kisses to her hair and whispering how all he ever wanted to do was be the best son he could.
His friends talked about the glory of serving their country, of being a hero back home. The glory of killing men who deserved killing. They would tell their stories and look at him expectantly, waiting to hear his, but he would shrug instead. “Too fucking humble for his own good,” they’d tease, prodding him with the butts of their assault rifles, “come on Ranger. Best story. We know you’ve got them.”
He wouldn’t respond. He’d figured out a way to just smile that would make them laugh again, but leave him alone. “His stories are too fucked up,” they’d joke as they walked away. It was better that way, not because his stories were worse than theirs, but because the glory was in seeing his sisters beam when he walked through the front door, then telling their friends about their brave brother who wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life in prison. He was Ranger now, he would tell his old high school friends who came asking when he was going to get out of the military and join a gang, which was where he belonged. He was Ranger now. He’d left Carlos back on the corner with those vacant eyed boys, watching dumbly as their lives trickled into the storm drain.
50scenes
#06 - Glory
334