Chapter 1
I must stay awake. Don’t pass out! I feel a boot digging into my side. The pressure is significant enough to forces my ribs into submission. My next breath is going to hurt... And there it is. I need to calm down. I need to take shallow breaths. Do not hold my side! Protecting my head is priority number one. I must stay conscious. Must protect my head. The guys are coming for me. Got to stay alive.
A knife! As I try to block it, I can feel it penetrating my left forearm. The sharp icy pain assisted by my efforts to defend myself gets jammed into my bone. Oh, God, I hate knives. Out of all the pain I have experienced, they are the worst. Bullets will burn the nerve ending, which eases the sensation a bit. But knives leave everything raw, multiplied by the fact that it’s still being moved about while it’s still inside you. I can feel my aggressor’s frustration as he tries to shake his bayonet loose. It is stuck in the bone, dumb ass! The pain is unbearable. Finally, he pries it loose by stepping on my left hand for leverage. I scream and will myself to stay conscious. The moment I regain control of my arm, I cradle it to my chest. Blood is oozing out of the wound. Good! He didn’t puncture anything significant. Got to try my best not to let their filthy, infested dirt...Oh, no! I left my head exposed.
Right on cue, I see the buttstock of an AK-47 hastening towards my face. I try to protect my face with my shoulders. But the weapon skid on my left shoulder to hit my left temple. I can feel it crunch. I messed up. I can feel my body following my head as it hit the ground. This is it. This is not the epic, bullets flying, gunfight I imagined dying in.
My wife… My children… This is it. This is how I die... but I don’t want to die. I never got a chance to own a home. My youngest first birthday is in a few months. I am going to miss her’s also. I haven’t celebrated my oldest first birthday. I was also deployed last time. Fucking Army! Is this worth it? All this sacrifice just to be called a nigger behind my back; to fear for my daughters as they try to get this world to see them as people. Why am I doing this? I feel another crack in the back of my head. Instinctively, I roll over, exposing my face again. I take another blow to the head. Pain shoots up my jaw. I want to scream but realize that I can’t. All that comes out is a muffled yell. I can feel tears start rolling down my cheeks. This is really it. Jennifer wanted a divorce. Well, she is getting the next best thing: a fat check and a box filled with whatever bits of me these fuckers leave behind.
Everything is getting numb. I can feel my aggressors forcibly moving my body, but the pain feels far away. They must really hate us. I haven’t been able to move my body for a while now. Yet, they are not relenting. Everything just feels unreal. It’s like I am watching a movie where am the unfortunate protagonist.
With all this crazy shit going on, my thoughts gravitate towards Jenny. Our marriage is failing. It shouldn’t surprise me, most military marriages end in divorce. Even though we have our disagreement, I still love that woman. I miss her smile. I miss holding her in my arms. I love the way she reacts when I touch her. It is as if she was made just for me. The way she smells, tastes, and sounds. It’s like playing an instrument of flesh, warmth, and passion. Her next husband better not take her for granted like I did. I should have taken her out more. I should have told her I love her more. I should have done more. It sucks to be me right now. Ha! I must be sustaining brain damage. I am making Nacho Libre references.
If only I have the strength to flip them the bird before I go. I can barely keep my eyes open. Bella… Anna… I am sorry. I wanted to spend more time with you both. I wanted to see what kind of mischief you get into; see what kind of women you become. Show you how a man is supposed to treat you. I wanted to dance with you.
-SGT Baptist!
You hear that, girls. I am in good hands. Uncle Peter has come to guide me.
-SGT Baptist!
…
-Charly!
