Unreliable narrator; Old memories

As a man of my word I can tell you one thing, I love my county, from the plains with them cows, to the great big woods up in the northeast.  The food here the culture the nostalgia of the fast life it’s all so intriguing. We are free we are alive every day without a dictator or a depot we are free, The bald eagle the very symbol of our country, wanna know what it is, It’s Free.  Of course that is the reason I joined the army to fight for the freedom that we have to allow this country to be free. I always wanted to be a war hero and be thanked by Americans for saving four men in a burning house while three hundred others die because the inexperienced dude took your place when you said that you needed to go with Charlie team because they were a man short. It’s not your fault but it chained off of you, Right?  Or is it just that kid’s fault, what was his name… ahh I just had it, well whatever I will remember later don’t let me forget, now it’s your turn to remember, what I want to remember so I can get you that name.  That kid gave the order to fire on militants of the Iraqi army, he set coordinates and exact mortar counts and poison initiated missile strikes so that each one would perish. The only problem was the fact that the militants where US and that it was actually a mid-sized brigadier force setting to the west to take out a high concentration of Iraqi troops. All 350 troops died, a message about the location was sent thirteen minutes and twenty two seconds before the attack, problem was the kid had left his transmitter in his way station not expecting to receive any messages. Rookie mistake I would say.  The Iraq war was a good one I had fun, I k now what you’re thinking, HE HAD FUN. Yea I did I’m a freak I guess but I didn’t kill too many people, I saved a lot and saw a lot of spectacular things.  Plus I had my good buddy with me Rodney. That dude was my man he was always doing something funny, but that’s what got him, he was doing funny things to avoid the pain. He went through some hard times in that war I listened as he told me about the little boy who came running from a house on a side road off of  the west side of  neo largo valley. The kid dashed in a fire fight Rod hit the kid with his .357 Magnum. Got him right in the femoral artery anywhere else on the kids leg and he would have lived. Rod cried for four days all he thought about was his son, he could never live this down now.  After a while he got better happier, too happy at that, always making a joke, but I loved them ya know. One day I recall the platoon was going through a hot little portion of desert that was really killing us. We hit a big set of trees and stopped in the grove.  It I later come to find was a vast forest.  But something around a hundred feet into the forest was one of my favorite memories. A waterfall seemingly innocent, well it was but it had a certain vibe like the fish could talk. The water was clear as glass a picture perfect view little miniature fish swam around I had to enter this stunning water. It was clean fresh water perfectly drinkable and clean, the best water I had ever tasted. The problem with the area was that this waterfalls pond bellow was endless I could never see the bottom just darkness.  This is the same reason sometimes I hate our military. We bomb beautiful places like this, why can’t we just live with what others say to us and be happy for once. I don’t know, but sometimes I hate America.  Actually that leads me to my next thought.  The war ended and I was back home Rodney was there, my son was waiting with his aunt, but I still couldn’t get the picture of the poor kid out of my head, the thing that scares me is my sons name is nee the name of the place I killed the kid I don’t think I will forget that place, nee larga valley. Rodney had post dramatic stress disorder, and I was devastated he wouldn’t ever talk to me about the days we had there he would act like it never happened. My best friend basically crazy.  The worst part about this whole thing is the after sequence when Rodney hit rock bottom, kills fifty, wounds three hundred, and attempts to kill himself but is stopped by a cop named Don.  All wounded would end up dying some sort of poison I guess, that’s what the report said. Rodney was a crazy dude my best friend, but a crazy dude.  Now the more I think about the war the more I remember and regret things I did. Those missile strikes where brutal how could a kid of my caliber do that?  I never figured out my own thoughts and feelings, Doney it says on my military forms, they spelt it wrong it’s Donny, whatever I guess. Wait was it, it was, yes! I figured it out, the kid his name was… Maybe don I don’t know it could have been Donny I can’t really remember They liked to call him Rod or something What’s that short for I can’t seem to recall what my name was then It was so long ago He may have been a Rodney, same as my friend But who knows what’s going on anymore this is a war story I’m Just trying to Remember.

Short short story;Waiting

Sitting.  Waiting.  When am I going to move?  One or two.  Either side. In front. In back. Miles and miles.  Always stopped.  Backed up. Never ending.  Seemingly forever.  Annoying.  Will it stop?  A list this is not. A story it is.  Cars are not present.  A line this still is.  Does my life have meaning?  No or yes?  Is the grave still there?  No or yes?  My job is. Wait no job is.  I am present.  Yet not alive.  My friends wait.  In the same place.  Every day.  Line moves forward.  Slowly.  I remember.  The line.  The 69 Camaro.  The traffic.  The endless storm.  The trip.  The 72 Oldsmobile. The death.  My jump.  The bridge.  Gone.  My job gone.  My friends. Wait.  My family.  Wait.  I.  Wait.  I.  Fall. Water.  The black depths.  The bodies.  The line.  The wait.  They all wait.  Me too just present.  But dead inside.  The grave I wait by.  And wait I do.  The line moves.  I answer.  The teller hands me the check and I move away.  I go back to my room.  My check in the landlord’s mailbox.  10 dollars short.  I walk and fall and fall then walk. Endless, Foolish.  Never ending. Waiting.  They all wait. Wait for me to join them. I wait. They all Wait.

 

TEST, Self Deprecation;Fat  is Fun

Food was always my favorite thing and I guess you could have figured that out by looking at me.  I’m short to say the least, peaking at a whopping 5’5” with parents at 5’1” and 5’5”, you could say I have a lot of potential to be at least 6 feet. Now at 5’5” basketball is of course my sport, I can dunk, I can hit a layup in traffic, I block the tallest guys out there, this being in a world of oompaloompas that I wish I could live in but, no I live in the society where 5’9” is average height and 6’ is the right height. Not only am I pint sized but I also weigh 200 pounds, how tremendous, right?   Imagine what my BMI is. I mean, I’m short and fat, no irony or fakeness there, just truth, my BMI puts me at “SEVERLEY OVERWEIGHT”.   All caps too and in red, why are bad things always red and usually in bold letters, like I wouldn’t put “rose” in capital letters, but it is red and it’s a good thing. But I guess ROSE, actually that does make it better, and roses have thorns.  Sorry, neglect the last sentence, I proved myself false.  Anyways, being big has allowed me to do many things like being the person to take the heavy stuff, like for whatever reason, fat is related to strong, I don’t get it. Or being the “wall” the person who stops everything and is supposed to be a solid thing and not move, Yea, that is hard to do when people take it as “lets get as many people as we can and try to push Chris” which unsurprisingly leads to massive bruising and a good trampling.  I also get out of a lot of things,”I can’t get up I’m fat and slow” and that works sometimes. Then you get the smart people who say “get your butt up you need the exercise”. Thanks bud I’m glad you could tell me the facts I know already.  Being large also could get awkward but has led to funny times. This includes the snob of a child in front of you, (even if he is 4) that says to his mother “I’m getting old and I’m a big boy now” turns to me “Oh but I don’t want to be that big of a boy” pointing at yours truly. Now that’s just one of the may instances of child mistreatment, that deep, deep down inside I hate with a passion and want to strangle the child but I realize that is not nice, and it may be a little illegal. Like the time at my job that a I was watching was misbehaving and his comeback to my scrutiny was “well you’re short, fat and dumb, I’m almost as tall as you, lose some weight, fatty.” Yes he said the fatty part was necessary and no I didn’t report him to my supervisor because I was proud of him, well upset but non the less, the kid was a straight gangsta so I let him go with a warning.  Anyways, being big isn’t to bad, I mean the best part is when you’re with a group of friends and the skinniest eats like three French fries and everybody’s like “ how can you eat that much” and I’m just sitting there with 2 burgers, large fry a milkshake and a DIET shoda, there is it again, the bold and red lettering, and at that a way to overused joke. In any case, Fat is Fun, if you’re fat you’re funnier (proven fact) and I like to eat.

James the Superstar  RAFT

Words that are not to be used: Professional, Wrestler, named, jimmy, quits, unexpectedly, decides, house, poodles, Canada, breaks, neck, rescue.

James was having a great year and he had nothing more to prove to his lovely French wife. Always as a young boy James wanted to be like his father Steve Austin, but to his dismay could never be nearly as large and physically outrageous as his father. Yet he stilled joined the WWE as superstar even if he could never live up to his father’s legacy, he wished and hoped he could, but never thought he could, until that one night. That one night was now a day in late October James had begun his WWE season like no other in the past ten years he had one thirteen matches in a row with only 30 strikes landing that’s an average of 2.307 a match, absolutely outstanding in all regards. At this point you might think James is having thoughts of surpassing his legendary father because of this run, but in James mind he still has 37 more matches to go and a lot of time to goof up.  This thought is a good one for sure. Yet it never happens 37 matches later with four losses only two hundred landed hits on him and a high spirit James is excited to be participating in his first Summer Slam the end all be all of matches, 30 plus contenders all in the ring at one time all fighting to be the last one in and James want to win…BAD.  With stars in his eyes the day finally comes. The Testosterone oozing the hype of the crowd bearing down and energizing every superstar the lights shining way above and the harsh smell of body odors that fill the arena it’s all so tantalizing to James. He could finally do what his father never did and that’s win, win this match and be the best of the best the grand supreme the Michael Jordan the Tiger Woods (before the, well you know), the Tom Brady, he could win. But he doesn’t’,  in fact he’s never there this is a dream, funny how things can seem so real so vivid yet be fake and made up like some kind of cruel set up that your brain just says “ I want you to have a bad day.”  James is still a superstar in the WWE, his dad is still Steve Austin but, he is the worst of the worst he signs autographs after every match but only signs a couple pieces of paper he does children’s party’s to make enough money to pay for the car that he and his wife got a loan to get. But that day after he had the dream wasn’t too bad because his wife has found him a fighting league right outside of the province of Montréal this is where he and his beautiful wife go. The only catch though, she says is that they must breed and keep in their canines of the fluffy variety in their humble abode. Because the league is so tempting he graciously agrees with the terms. The Montréal league is fun. James is the best he has the most wins the best form and the best well everything there is no man better. The only person who has beaten him is the commissioner for the league Helga. She  beats him every time with a choke or a punch to the kidney whatever may be the case she does it and does it well, better than any American in the WWE. Helga is a very interesting person for she sees no limits she has no boundaries, she has no clue when to stop. This is James downfall.  The last match of the season and it’s against Helga, brutal, unforgiving and violent, and James is facing her. His wife is there with all 6 of their canines of the fluffy variety, to watch them fight, but this time is different. Immediately Helga gets James in a choke hold and does not let go, as a fighter James struggles until the upper part of his back gets really hot and he hears a snap. He goes limp no feeling anywhere. Helga has broken his cervical vertebra and left him paralyzed. Yet a miracle of sorts is happening. He thinks that this must be a dream but in fact he is no further from dreaming than right now. Above him stand 6 short fluffy figures rolling him onto his stomach and prodding his cervical vertebra down to his upper back. The treatment is soothing, "wait" thinks James "how can this be soothing if I am paralyzed," he has regained feeling and is moving the odd prodding has worked and to a great amount. He feels new and beats Helga how I don’t think James or anyone in the audience knew how any of the actions that just happened came to be but they did and in the end James might be just as much of a legend as his father (but probably not).