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The day I punched myself in the face

...battle hardened. Sure. Kid yourself it's that. Shellshock. Post traumatic... whatever it is they call this kind of thing in the future.

I have been to the future and it is more hellish to be home. Ironic, isn't it? scuse me, kids, I get so ahead of myself. This is a little story about my dad and me and a little difference of opinion.

God, I never thought I would ever miss my still so much.

I've mentioned it before, of course, right? Back in the days when we all lived in The Swamp and no one lived anywhere else. We were mad, doctors Frankenstein intent on creating the first truly homemade martini. Each night we held up toasts to the monster we had made. Somehow it seems that everyone needs a little help, or maybe someone to carry them over the finish line.

I miss it. I miss them, and it's been so long since I even thought about the 4077, what with everything else that's gone on since then. Beej. Beej, and Trapper before him. Am I ever gonna see those guys again? I wish I had some form of mind control, some magic power to communicate over the miles.

I wish they had the network! But computers like this are light years from being made...

Think of us as lost. My father, who art in judgement of all things. I was supposed to come home a hero, right? Right? I mean, after all the... the ragged remains of my soul in shreds that's left after all the time I did, in Korea, in Silent Hill...

When I am King, we will have no such things, but, my lads, if the old king my father were dead, we would be all kings.

So. Kids these days, right? Trying desperately to be cool. I thought coming home would mean everything was alright, you know? A little disquiet for my pains and then, homecoming. The world never tasted so sweet as the sweetmeats of lobster from the waters of Maine.

We arrived. Me, myself, and my crew of whatever you want to call them. I guess my dad doesn't approve of my choice of new friends. He let us in, alright.

...and locked the door.

Listen. I think i figured something out, America, about you and me which is that I have no clue how we both fucked this up so horribly. Yeah, you and me. You and me both.

I'm declaring a war on fear. On the fact that anything unknown MUST be dangerous, and that anyone who'd dare stand up for or against the monsters must, in turn by default by association, ipso facto must have become one. When was it that I became the Bad Guy? in Seoul, one night with too many in me? in Hanoi, where I never should have been and by rights haven't even gone yet? in Silent Hill?

Oh sure. Sure. I get it. I do believe in monsters, I do. Just once I'd like to fall asleep without thinking of monsters.

But I was framed!

I snapped, I guess. I break a little every time I think too much, but this was different. I looked around and noticed that every friend who had walked through the door with me was something completely incomprehensible to my father. The feminist political chick. Almost normal til she opened her mouth. The smartass hippy from New York. The gook.

The gook.

I think it was that word that sent me over the edge. Color me unpatriotic if you have to, but we went into those people's world, we went into their lives trying to bring them a freedom and a democracy they neither asked for or needed. I don't care if we're talking the Japanese in WW2, the Koreans, the VietNamese. We had no right.

The fact there were oases like Rosie's, places where we could take R&R without having to worry every waking moment our throats would be slit proved to me these people deserved more respect than to just be considered faceless.

I barely know Prudence, but she is no 'gook'.

And of course, the opera isn't over til the creepy chick sings.

So where are we now, folks?

I guess if I had any sense I'd know I could have outmanuevered, out-strongarmed, outsmarted my father. But I didn't. This was Big Benji, this was the man who taught me everything, and this place was supposed to be everything I'd wanted to come back to, everything I'd fought for and earned. I guess I was just completely overwhelmed, blindsided.

I guess it was a pretty long night, more in the sense of relative experiences than actual time. Sometimes when I think about it I get quiet, but if I find a place to yell I can sleep a lot better.

I should have tried harder to convince him that I deserved better than to be locked in the basement with my 'weirdo' friends until I somehow passed whatever muster I need to pass to let him see I'm sane, but I was too shocked. Too depressed. They tried to convince me to make him see reason, but I was just too fatigued and numb to do anything but sleep for the next two days.

The next day I had a dream that I was pulling bones out of a swamp. They were human, maybe even people I knew. Somehow I felt like it related to something in particular. Pull the bones out of the swamp and keep going - that's what I kept thinking when I woke up.


What the hell do we do now?

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by ringosdiamond writing
meatballsurge0n
Captain B. Pierce

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