thy kingdom come
She is walking through the jungle and then there’s her bunker in front of her, her door back to the bar, but when she walks through it, she is not in the bar. She is in a hospital.
The antiseptic smell makes her nose wrinkle, but there is also the smell of old wood and mildew and is that smoke? Is something burning?
She walks down the hallway until she reaches a pair of double doors and pushes them open. It’s a recovery ward--a row of beds on each side of the room and every bed is full. The first few beds are men without feet, men without legs, men whose heads are swathed in bandages, men who are screaming and men who are dead. She knows all these men. She treated them all in the aid station at Tra Bong and the last time she saw them was when they were loaded onto the choppers and flown away.
The next set of beds is different. These are men she knows much better.
Ramon, shot in the gut and screaming and cursing and dying all the same.
Random, trying to reach for him, but it is so hard without his eyes.
Merlin with his wings not cut but torn out and the mattress of his bed so soaked with blood, there is more pooling on the floor beneath it, his laughing face gone slack in death.
Kit is sitting up, staring down at where his hands would be, if there weren’t bandaged stumps instead. My lady my lady, he says, where is your lord?
He is in the next bed with his heart cut out. He stares at the ceiling, mouthing hanging open in a final expression of shock while his heart floats in a jar on the bedside table.
There is not a damn thing she can do for any of them, so she does what she is best at.
She runs.
She runs.
She runs until
the hallway should have run out but it just keeps going but at least
she can’t hear them screaming behind her anymore but she can hear planes, bombers on a run and she knows what’s coming next so she tries to run faster but it’s like time is against her and everything
napalm, son, is lots of fun
dropped in a bomb or shot from a gun
it gets the gooks when on the run
napalm sticks to kids
slows
eighteen kids in a no fire zone
rooks under arms and going home
last in line goes home alone
napalm sticks to kids
down
I've been told it's not so neat
to catch gooks burning in the street
but burning flesh, it smells too sweet
napalm sticks to kids
She falls out of bed, screaming, tearing at the leg of her pajama pants until she can see what’s there--what shouldn’t be there--not the old faded scar but the fresh burn and the smell oh god oh god the smell--
She clamps both hands down hard on her calf (heal) and in a moment, it’s all just a sick memory. But real question now is how did that even happen?
She thinks about it as she opens her window to air out the room. And even though she’s (almost) certain it’s all in her head, she walks with a limp, favoring her left leg.