Soldier

I was a soldier, standing on a hill, facing a dilemma. Several of my troops had gone and done something both brave and stupid, they had taken a chance, and now they were in trouble. It was left to me to decide, either go in and rescue them, or stay here and protect the rest of my troops. I was angry to now be in this position. Those soldiers should have known better, they should have been more careful. I had gotten away with many a trick manuever in my day, now I would be faced with one more attempt to defy logic. It would be risky, but I decided I would try my luck once again and go in after those who were in trouble.

I knew my own great skill in tactical decisions and quickly worked out the only possible plan, to split my troops into several guerrilla style detachments and try to sneak my way in and out while the others distracted the enemy. It would be extremely risky. I gave my orders and all of us wearing slightly varying shades of grey green colored army looking clothing, as if some of the dye lots had not quite matched, and with our older style rifles slung over our shoulders on shiny patent leather strap, headed out through the hilly forested land.

The plan was no sooner made then it began to unravel. My part of the group was taking heavy fire. There were far more enemy than I had predicted and no way we would reach our target. In helter skelter fashion, I gave the order to retreat. Not only was my rescue plan failed, but the rest of my troops were now in mortal danger. I knew it was all my fault. I had taken the same stupid risk that the guys I was trying to rescue had taken, but I had mistakenly allowed myself the hubris of thinking I could do it more effectively. As I ran bent over in an attempt to not get shot, I castigated myself for my stupidity.

I was in the lead and I kept trying to look back and see if the rest were following. I saw a few of my guys but felt sick inside knowing several in the back had probably already fallen and there was nothing I could do to help them. We were taking fire now from behind and the left side. A collapsing old stone wall protected us from fire on the right but there were probably enemy to the right as well. The situation was dire.

Moments later, I came around a low hill only to come face to face with 2 soldiers pointing their rifles directly at me. Several others backed them up from the left. All had their rifles aimed while mine was still pointing down from when I was running. There was no chance. I would die a failure and all my troops would die as well because of me. I bowed my head and tears welled fiercely in my eyes. Intense sorrow washed over me as I waited for death.

And it all went blank.

Land of Steep Mountains

We lived inside the caves, all of us. Our caves were hand carved in such a way as to blend in, rounded corners and curved alcoves as if nature herself had created them, but each nook and each cranny was conveniently placed to serve as water storage, as shelves, or as walkways. Nothing was left to waste. I lived here a happy life, in the midst of adolescence, I had not yet reached my full height, but I was strong and well adjusted. For the most part, my life was a content one.

Howevever, it was with much surprise that I was told I had been chosen to go on the hunt. It was a great honor, they told me, for one so young. Few are chosen. At first, I was nervous. What if I should not live up to expectations? But soon, my mind began to fantasize. I could be the one to find the much needed treasure. I would be the toast of our society, talked about for generations as a great and brave hero of our people. The idea warmed my heart and I allowed myself to dwell on it for many pleasant nights.

Finally, the day of the hunt arrived. Gone was all my earlier bravado as we stood on the slope of a great mountain that ascended at an extreme angle of 70 degrees. All our land was this way, consisting entirely of impossibly steep mountains that reached impossibly high into the sky. Outside of our caves, we only new of these spires. No flat land was present anywhere and all movement outside of the caves carried a danger of falling and death.

On the sides of the slopes, trees and forest plants had well adapted to anchoring themselves down into the rock and soil. Large clumps of lichen type plants made soft grey mounds between the stones. We climbed slowly, strung together with jangling climbing gear in an attempt to prevent serious accidents. Each step was exhausting and tedious as we hunted for signs of natural ores and materials that would advance our society. But everywhere was just more of the same plain grey rocks, thin reddish trunks of trees shooting straight towards the sky, and small bushes scattered between the trunks. There was no white rock and no shiny metallic rock, just the same old grey. It all looked the same for as far as we could see. Sometimes an entire generation would pass before a new discovery was made. I knew the chances of success on any one miniscule mission were small.

After a time we stopped and rested. Exhausted mentally and physically, I sat down on a small rock and hoped it would anchor me from falling. We sat with our legs pointing down the mountain. As if sitting on the slope of a cliff, I could see the mountain side go straight down for miles below me until the combined thickness of the tree trunks prevented any further vision.

Lifting my head and looking straight out in front of me, only a few miles in front was the face of the mountain next to us, appearing exactly the same as the one I was sitting on. The air was so clear I felt I could almost reach out and touch the other mountain. Somewhere far far below out of sight, I knew the two mountains must slant down to touch eachother, but we never went down there. It was too far.

Finally, my head sagged down to see the ground between my legs and I was startled to see a small pile of crumbled grey rock right there in front of me. How had I missed that? Everyone knew that fresh crumbled rock meant an area of danger. Only an idiot tarried in the vicinity of a crumbled rock pile. If I had any brains, I would get up immediately and move. But I was tired and I didn't want to draw the attention of the others to my mistake. If I moved now, they would wonder why. And I was tired. As much as I wanted to get away from the scene of my mistake, I was not eager to exert myself further. We would move soon anyway and I decided to take my chances and wait until then. Most likely, I would get away with it with my honor intact.

I had lost all hope of finding any treasure on this trip. Instead, I decided to concentrate only on keeping up with the others and avoiding trouble. From now on, I would be more careful of crumbled rock piles and if we were all just as careful, we would make it back home with no injuries. By now, that was all I could find in my heart to hope for. These expeditions were long and hard and when we returned, we would have to face the disappointment of the elders. This wasn't nearly so fun as I had expected, but I had a duty to my society to at least try. I would continue as long as they wanted me, even if in my heart I felt it was a waste of time.

Stunted

I crawl in circles on my hands and knees. Around my neck is a taught metal chain attached on the other end to an old wooden post. I am rarely fed properly but I don't really notice. I am in a daze. My pants are frayed and bursting at the seams and my old stained white t-shirt is much too small for me. I am unclean and I stink. Even my body is too small for my age, stunted by a lifetime of suffering. I should be in adolescence by now but instead my body looks like an 8 year old. If I wanted to, I could stand up, snap the chain, and leave. I am big enough. I have the power to do that, but it doesn't occur to me. I know no different, I don't know I have power, so I just continue doing what I have always done. I continue to crawl around the pole, the hard metal chain pressing tightly against my throat.

Crime and Punishment

I am a man sleeping on a large hunk of burnt orange colored foam about the size of a bed. My goal is to travel out of body and attempt to gather information needed for an investigation of a crime. This is an experiment. We don't know if it will work. But I feel my mind beginning to shift into another state and then I begin to see something.

Now I am a woman in a short skirt bent over a table talking to a man and a woman. They are sitting in what looks like a restaurant, each on opposite sides of a table, settled into booths with high backings that give this area a small feeling of privacy even though the rest of the place is crowded. They are sitting far from the aisle, near the window. Because I am standing in the aisle, I have to bend way over the table to talk to them quietly, but I like doing this. My butt sticks out and I hope this will draw the attention of any men in the room because the feeling of being sexy and desirable pleases me.

We three are guilty of a crime that involved murder and finances and now we are hoping we won't get caught. I am scared but at the same time, the thrill of conspiracy excites me. I am enjoying the feeling of comradery I have towards the man. I also experience inklings of sexual tension and desire for him but I know that it would be unwise to spend too much time with him while they are still investigating our crime. I banter with the man, more for fun than out of necessity. We should not be talking, but I figure a little bit won't hurt and it makes me feel better.

I hear him say to me, "I heard about your upcoming eye surgery." We say several more things and then he says, "I guess you could get your father to take you all around." The last statements hangs in the air because we both know my father is old and infirm and would find such a job difficult.

I am talking mostly with the man but across from him sits a woman who is a lapdog wall flower. She doesn't say much and she doesn't think much other than what people tell her to think. She is also scared, but unlike me, she deals with it by withdrawing into herself. She deals with life moment by moment. Her personality is almost nonexistant and she is timid and so she is quiet. I barely think about her. She's a nonissue.

For his part, the man has a handsome but otherwise ordinary appearance, a light weight light colored jacket, and brown hair. He is trim of build and medium of height and likes to stand with his hands stuck in his pockets. He chats with me now but his attitude towards me has shifted considerably in recent days. I don't realize this but although before the crime he thought of us as partners, now abruptly he is looking at me as a liability and something out of his control. He does not like anything out of his control and he now ponders how convenient it would be if I were out of the picture. He smiles at me while he is trying to think of how to best get rid of me. His nature is pure Machiavellian.

And the scene starts to break up. My concentration is returning to the waking world and I decide this is good. Any longer and I would start to lose concentration and forget my experiences. I wake up again on the burnt orange foam. I struggle to remember details of the experience despite how difficult it is to remember from such an altered state of mind. But I am pleased. We won't know if this information will be useful or even accurate, but at least I was able to mentally travel and come back with information that seems interesting. I get up off the bed, shake the sleep from my mind, and consider what I should do next on this day. I take a few steps.

And then the scene starts to break up. I now wake up on my real bed. I am a bit confused. I struggle to remember details of the experience despite how difficult it is to remember from such an altered state of mind. I have had another experience but I don't feel like this one is interesting enough for the blog. It's not like the others. I don't think I will post it but I write down the information anyway in case it might be important. Later in the day, I think about it more, change my mind, and write up the story.

Old Lady and Young Man

I shuffle around some chairs and a large rectangular wood dining room table. It's cramped in here, a small room full of big furniture and porcelain nicknacks and figurines. I approach the wall and look at myself critically in the mirror. I have a giant goiter on my neck. I am always surprised when I see how big it is, but somehow it doesn't seem to cause any problems other than its gruesome appearance. I wonder for the nth time why it has to be me that is afflicted with it.

I am an old lady with frizzy grey hair, a slightly hunched back, and am wearing a medium long white flowered dress and heavy cloth apron. My hair is pinned back, but some of the frizz in the front always escapes. I am too old to have much concern about my looks, but still I would feel a lot better if I could somehow get rid of that giant goiter. It is so big and ugly, there is no way to hide it, not with clothes nor with strategically placed hair, so much so that I have completely given up trying. I have learned to live with it and although I often wish it would one day miraculously go away, I don't hold out much hope that it actually will.

Later in the day, I am moving around the tiny kitchen with old yellowed linoleum that is curling up in the corners of the room. My young nephew is coming over. I can't wait to see him. I am cooking him a nice dinner to make him happy. His visit will be the highlight of my day.

[My viewpoint shifts to third party observer]

The doorbell rings and she answers it. In the doorway stands a tall hunched over young male with a baggy overcoat and a bad attitude. His hunched posture is not from physical problems but from lack of desire to be there. His face is average, neither handsome nor ugly, a bit of extra flesh around the mouth highlighting a sour downturned mouth. This man rarely smiles. He considers this lady to be old fashioned and impossibly clueless. She doesn't listen to him and she doesn't understand him. She lives in her own world which has nothing to do with reality or what he thinks is important. She disgusts him, the sight of that hideous goiter most of all, and he can't wait to get this visit over with and leave. Meanwhile, he will be sullen and unappreciative until he finally has an excuse to escape.

She on the other hand is happy he is there. She walks around elated to be able to serve him. After some time, she eventually notices that he is not talking much and seems unhappy. She works hard to be cheery so he will feel better. No matter how disrespectful and rude he becomes, she will never realize that he does not like her. Such ideas do not exist in her world. She will always have a list of excuses for him that make perfect sense in her fantasy world, and every time she breaks further from reality, his disdain for her will only grow. What she needs to do is see him for what he is, tell him straight, yell in his face, set limits and enforce them. Only then will he respect her. But she never will.

What To Do?

It's night and I am outside, leaning up against this car in my expensive blue jeans, waiting for my parents to come out of the store. The store is bustling and dozens of people are pushing their way out of the double doors every minute. I look at them and they all seem so 'together' so happy and without a care. I envy them. None of them are like me.

No one would ever suspect that not long ago, I allowed myself to get raped and that it happened repeatedly. They would think I was better than that. They would believe I should have known what to do, a girl like me who is smart, strong, and pretty with a sassy attitude.

I imagine telling my parents what happened when they come out of the store. I imagine the shock and disgust that would show on their faces as they stood in front of those double doors with so many people streaming by, the disappointment they would feel that I had not lived up to their standards. It would ruin their organized little world. They would be irritated and embarrassed that it might get out and unsure how to deal with this new shock. The look on their faces alone would be devastating to me. I decided that as much as this secret writhed within me and consumed my whole world, I would not tell them. It would be easier that way.

Through a Mirror Darkly

I look at myself posing in front of a long mirror, like the kind that are hung on the back of doors. I see a young skinny African American child, maybe 8 or 9 years of age, medium dark skin, hair kept short, naked except for boxer shorts and socks. I am short with small sinewy muscles typical of a child that age. I can't stand the sight of myself.

My body is weak and spindly, really an expected build for a child of that age, but in my mind, I am impossibly small and good for nothing, a complete failure, useless in every way. I wish with all my heart that I could be big and strong, tall and powerful with huge bulging muscles and chest. That way, I would be an important person in life, not this insignificant slug that is me. The emotions of longing and self loathing consume me so much I can't think.

Violence in the Playground

I was standing on the grass in the schoolyard staring at the long building in front of me. The excitement was intense, very much a sexual kind of excitement. No one else was out yet but any minute, people would begin to percolate out of those doors and I would get what I wanted. I would experience the joy and pleasure and release. I trembled with excitement at the prospect. I could hardly wait. Some weakling would come out and they would be alone or I would follow them until they were alone. The details didn't matter because I would find a way to get what I wanted. I was big and powerful and they were weak. I could feel the power and strength in my muscles and I was proud of it. I would go up the them and pound my fist into their brain. I would punch and kick them and feel their bones break and feel my fists sink into their flesh. I would pound their face and their big white grapeskin eyes until they popped. I would jam my fingers into their flabby skin until blood spurted out and bright red bruises bloomed and they would scream and writhe until they could no longer move. I could hardly wait.

The First of the Strangeness

I was asleep. And then..

I was in ‘my room’ wherever that was because it wasn’t any of my normal rooms. I lived at ‘home’ but it was not any I have actually lived in. That was one weird unexplained world right there, but I was looking out the window of this room and I noticed that with my right eye, I could see a lot of buildings, buildings that in my mind were not supposed to be there. I was curious to see these buildings. I guess life was so boring that buildings that were not supposed to be there were exciting. I reasoned that maybe my other eye could see them too, so I slowly closed the left eye and then reopened it again and then it could see the buildings with that eye as well.

I felt that if I concentrated hard enough, I could keep the new world in view. I noticed many big long buildings with many doors like at a school yard. There was one that I was apparently ‘in’ now and then there was another across a hall and parallel to mine. To the right there was some open space of dry dirt and sparse weeds and another building that was at right angles to the first with the bulk of it out of sight behind me. The buildings had dark brown fascias and eaves and what looked like white stucco on the sides. They appeared well kept, something one might see in the 70s, but the humans seemed to dress a bit old fashioned, with the women wearing longer dresses with subdued colors. The men wore clothing like one might see the amish wear or like from older times, dark colored pants, white long sleeved shirts with the cuffs rolled up, sometimes with vests, and hair short. I remember seeing a keychain coming out of a pocket. The feeling of the people was not of being overly strict on dress though, just that this was how people typically dressed here.

This place was busy! Adults were going about tasks and I saw maybe one or two adolescent males, also working. There were some carts and tables with stuff on them but I did not look to see what the stuff was. My overwhelming impression was of these many big buildings and also of lots of clutter, ropes hanging coiled on a wall, tables, carts, people, the halls and walls were just plain cluttered up with no blank spaces.

Now I was curious if this world was real so I decided to go out the window and see if I landed in this strange new world. I began pushing hard on the window screen and it bowed outward impossibly far and put up quite a resistance. And then I was out and standing on the pavement in the hall. The new world surrounded me. I ran up to a middle-aged woman with a smock and long frizzy curly blond hair that was pulled back in a loose pony tail. She looked busy and harried but I tried to ask her a question. However, the words stuck in my throat in shock.

My voice was coming out all small and squeaky! I realized it was the voice of a very young girl. Even for a young girl, it was a high voice, and there was a strange accent to it. I paused at this realization and the busy woman looked disgusted with me and walked off about her business. I tried to place the accent. It wasn’t quite like anything I have ever heard. I realized the others were talking with it as well, a long sort of drawl. The closest I could describe it would be similar to a slow southern drawl mixed with some kind of unknown foreign country accent.

I approached another person, a man this time. He barely paused his fast walk and then absently waved me off. Then I tried another woman and stuttered something about ‘why, who?’ She tried to listen, but I trailed off. I was confused now. I wasn’t sure what it was I even wanted to ask. I was in this place, a child here obviously, and these were my parents, relatives, and my community, all busy. And they had no time for childish questions. There was nothing really to ask. After that, I have no recollection.