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Short Stories Miscellaneous Stories Better run through the jungle
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Better run through the jungle |
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| Written by Rover | |
| Thursday, 27 March 2008 | |
The anti war song on the radio brings tears to your eyes. You end up shaking with uncontrolable sobs
in front of your five years old daughter. Sorry Suzie, sorry. Daddy needs some rest now. It has been
fifteen years now but it's still there, as strong as ever.
You've tried to control it, but each time you think you've managed to tame this alien thing inside of you, you're proven wrong.
Things got work in the dark, at night.
You think you could forget all this when you go to sleep, seeking refuge in your dreams. But the blood, the mud and the adrenaline are there too.
You are trapped.
In the streets you feel like people are watching you, you can't help it but think about the way you could kill them without making too much noise.
It's like being shut in a small dark room with some sort of beast that you can't see. You know it's here and it's going to come at you and kill you. This room is your head, now try to get out of it if you don't want to die.
You've seen some guys like you, a lot of them. Too many of them. Some of them found a way out. Alcohol, drugs, suicice, you name it. You've tried alcohol and drugs but the hallucinations took you back to the place you were trying to forget.
And you can't kill yourself. Not yet.
It's like a giant cyclone, and you revolve around. The eye of this hurricane tries to pull you in all the time. It can be a sound, a smell, a color in the sky, or even something that you did not noticed on a conscious level. How can you fight this?
You can't concentrate on anything. There is too much pressure, and even if you try to shield with a veil of random thoughts, the thing always comes through.
It's here when you stand on your frontporch at dusk.
It's here when you try to sleep.
Like your best friend, your only friend.
No one can understand you, except maybe a beaten up animal. You know something broke inside of you. You've seen photographies of the child you used to be before this happened to you, and you didn't recognize them.
You feel all messed up. You often have a wrong reaction, or no reaction at all. Like a puppet with broken strings.
Sometimes you feel like you are made of glass. A frail wrapping concealing a tormented whirlwind.
You just pray it won't broke, you hope you won't broke. The raindrops of this raging storm come through your eyes too often. Your eyes that saw so many things you'd better forget.Your eyes that show so many things you'd better hide. Sometimes people notice these two pools of madness and turn their heads. Full of guilt and pity and fear.
Fear that you might shatter and let this raging need for violence out. They don't understand it is the only thing that keeps you from falling apart.
You feel like a stranger among the people you once loved. They don't recognize you anymore, and when they try to reach out for you all you have to give back is a vertiginous emptiness.
You're afraid of everybody, you don't trust anyone. Some call you paranoid. It's only a reflex for survival. You're the only person you can rely on, too bad you're so messed up.
Nobody can help you. Doctors, social workers...they all say there are too many men like you. They just named the thing and walked away, leaving you alone with a shitty psychological explanation. PTSD. Doesn't change anything to know what the problem is if you know it can't be fixed.
You feel your constant anguish getting a bit heavier on your stomach and tightening even more your throat. Because it will be dark soon. The nightmares will come. They will make you cry. And call for mom. Maybe Suzie will hear you and come to comfort you. You know it should be the other way round.
Please, I don't want to cry again in front of my child. F- you Johnson, F- YOU.
Comments (2) |
 03-27-2008 03:00, Good story. I liked the bit about his child comforting him from his nightmares. Maybe could have done with a bit more about what happened to him instead of all just about his reactions/feelings which i felt was slightly long but thats just my view. Well done. » Reply to this comment...  03-27-2008 11:22, Yeah, enjoyed it. "Sometimes you feel like you are made of glass. A frail wrapping concealing a tormented whirlwind.", I liked this line. » Reply to this comment... |
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