His fingers claw through his hair
grabbing at his head,
trying to make the memories
fade away but they
linger
on the fringe of his consciousness
that has been split in two.
Half of him lays asleep
in the sand-blown shadows
of his home
and half of him is back
among the Vietnamese peasants,
the fields of infant rice,
the jungles of poisonous frogs and snakes,
the battlefields soaked with blood
and littered with
chunks of human flesh.
He writhes in the bed,
unable to get away
from the image
of his best friend
being blown into a thousand pieces
a hundred of which
slap him in the face and arms
and he wants to weep.
The guns fire,
and the cannons drown out
the brilliant
bill-clattering of storks
and the erotic mating calls
of plump partridges posted far above
on the tree branches leaning into
the sun bleached sky.
The world erupts with
dirt and blood
that splatters upon his cheeks
and his forehead.
He wrestles himself awake,
tears jumping from his eyes
in an effort to make him
go blind.
He wants to scratch out his ears,
but he knows the screaming
was forever embedded
in his mind, his thoughts,
and his very soul.
His sheets itch against his arms
and the air is humid
the same air
he knew all those months,
he can feel himself
shaking violently against his wife.
She curls her arm
around his torso,
and she strokes his hair
as she whispers into his ear
talking quietly to him,
she tells him he is okay,
that the war is over
and that all the blood is gone
but he shakes his head
because
he doesn't believe her.
It is still there
imprinted on his face and his eyes
and his lungs,
his heart, his memories.
He tosses her hand
away from his head
and he turns on his side,
afraid to make
any sudden movement
because
he does not want her
to feel the need
to hold him
and caress him
and make him feel belittled.
The tears cease
and his memories fade away
until he is left
with a gray face
and glazed over eyes.
He has made himself
blind and deaf
to the rest of the world
and dead
to the rest of himself.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
Are you sure you want to delete this comment? This cannot be undone.
Mark this comment as a review? Points will be awarded to the poster.
Your comment was posted, but it wasn’t long enough to count as a review. Reviews need about four complete sentences (at least 250 characters). Try writing another review that explains your thoughts in more detail — the author will appreciate it, and you’ll earn points for it.
125,021 Literary Works • 672,740 Reviews
A very intellectual piece. The way you've embedded two completely different themes into one is mind-boggling. I loved the concept. The flow was good. The middle was really good. The way the physical impact of the nightmare on the narrator is described is outstanding. But what really stood out was your ability to forge two themes into one. The way you moved to the impact of war on society, it was commendable. Enjoyed reading the piece. Job well done. Cheers!
A powerul message. This speaks among high levels and it is one of the very reasons I despise war. Because although someone is brought home physically from the tradgeties of war, their minds and souls are bound to those terrifying memories, and it is impossible to leave because memories such as those follow you until you are forever buried. It also brings to mind about PTSD. A terrible condition that does not stop at just wars and people need more help than they are given. Great job.