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The Drowned Book of Naval Infantrymen: A short story collection

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Old 12-23-2014, 11:12 AM
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Default The Drowned Book of Naval Infantrymen: A short story collection


i started this project out of near spite when i couldn't make it into Officers Candidate School in my country but as soon as i could write something coherent , i felt like i should focus on something a bit selfless , so i chose to divert my frustration to the "underrated and unspoken of " status that naval infantrymen (marines) are subject to compared to other wings in the military around the world(well the US and Portugal are 2 exceptions i know) .
To purposely sound cheesy , i want to convey how its the same human experience for these men in the naval infantry wings regardless of the nation.

Its a collection of short stories , so i'll be posting one each in individual posts in this thread , hope thats not too inconvenient .
please let me know of anything that i could improve on , or just about any and all kinds of criticism you have , i hope its a good read and doesn't get on your nerves too much

BTW , this work is under GPL V. 2 , so whatever excerpts i have posted , you are free to use them however you like under the terms of the following : http://www.gnu.org/licenses/gpl-2.0.html#SEC1

The Drowned Book of Naval Infantrymen


Last edited by Cabin_Marine; 12-23-2014 at 12:50 PM..
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Old 12-23-2014, 11:15 AM
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Default The Blood Shot Vision

The Blood Shot Vision
A note i made in my journal before telling this tale.

I see a void , a large blissful void of relegation , the truth scourges me , the psyche torments me.
And then i look down at my feet and realize i am mortal , a being of flesh and feels , boons? or curses ? whichever it maybe.

It is easy enough to empathize and yet it is easier enough to draw yourself away from any emotion , why is it , that the human condition calls for
either no contact or an extreme gush of empathy .....

I classify myself under the "have-nots" , i don't have someone to teach me , what i learn is mine....nobody pushes me ...... nobody cares for me.

The one woman in the world that infact does ...is herself the victim of the monster i try to elude today....if nothing then she gives me hope ....
if not direction .... she gives me a shove .... alone in this darkness... i find myself a lesser man than she takes me for .... did i ruin my life by believing ?
Was it the fault of my father that i never got a holistic environment to grow in ,
that when people were competing , he held me back.... because he was a coward .

Then it hits me , he is irrelevant because he is the lesser being in this equation not me , i am the little bud that needed encouragement ,
he was the serf who didn't protect his crop , it isn't my fault that i don't have a genius level intellect by birth
but it is my fault if i don't live whatever longevity my life has trying to attain it.

PROLOGUE : The Hallucination

The ground shook beneath our feet , a "reminder of our mortality" they dub it , those holy men , who seem more dead than alive , they preach:
"the only way to rid oneself of any and all suffering is to forget how to feel".

I seek redemption , make no mistake but i do not seek death.

They do not attain , they merely seek it , they call it nirvana in the old language of their esoteric realm.

they devoid themselves of being alive or as they call it "pranna"
so they could get-by believing .

to me they are no different than an inanimate object(jara).
as always i shrug it away , telling myself "not my place to judge".

i launch myself like an arrow , like a whirlwind , like a sparrow and here i am in the sunshine of spring and cheer ,
far-far away from the grips of my sickly dear.



DAY 1 : The hovering void

The thwarting waves touch my whiskers and remind me how i can't grow a proper mustache , if i didn't know better ,
i would take it for the ocean mocking my manhood , afterall in my puny existence i stand just a man , while it gushes over my vessel ,
a colossal titan , a being that outweighs me and overpowers me , while i can only moan in agony.
It is not exaggeration to say , it is my very existence my destiny that it can bend and reduce, with that hovering over, how can my pride stand its own.

The platoon commander shoves me and yells for me to tighten the dock hinges , he hands me the key and shoves me again.
like everyday the frustration turns to contempt , no-matter the rank , no matter the file , no matter the position .

I don't think much of it later but it surely hurts for a moment i can not deny that.
I make my way through the busy deck , as i see the hordes of slaved men tirelessly pulling shoving and slowly succumbing under the weight of all
that labor , I am finally here , the steel of the gigantic harnesses stings like a giant hornet , ignoring this chilling putrid agony i make my way to my station.

The cruel "zeros" growl like lions , threatening me with deafness , i mumble under my breath pleading them to claim me , to kill me , to redeem me.

Fifteen minutes of tugging at a giant fastening harness , it is tiring but it is not the end of the world , i can still go on , i can , i will , i must.

I slave my wrists raw because there is no alternative , for her , for her i must go on , she is my only treasure , my only escape before insanity.

i make no sense because there isn't much to make of , a sense of duty ? Do you see an honorable man in me , i sure don't , the day i was dragged from her , nobody saw any honor in that , nobody protested , nobody called them monsters and blocked their way "better you than me" .

With that i was doomed , with that i was born , into a world where my existence is my pain , no empathy .... no regret , how can i have regret , what did i have before......
barely a moment to embrace her , barely a moment to breath , no nutrition , no humanity ,
i can not support her , i am too weak , i can not live like this , so when they took me,
i felt relived , i felt a surge of relief even when i was cast into this doomed vessel of death , i knew i had escaped , escaped disappointing her.

Escaped , i lullaby myself to sleep every time they let me close my eyes ....
all i see is her face and i cry , the others say it could be worse , no it can't be worse.
i am not falling from this , robbed of my identity , robbed of any security .
I am but cannon fodder to the masters , they can never understand.
How can they , when they pamper their royal butts in satin sheets and golden bowls with gilded treats.

How can they understand desperation , how can they empathize , they tell me i am a lesser being and i comply , the pride the ego if i ever had any ,
died a painful death every private moment i could fathom in this hell .

But i yet have it easy , think of those who starve , the ones that they love , atleast i don't have to go through that , atleast i don't have to tell her how sorry i am , how i failed her , atleast in death we may dream again , in a paradise that i can't possibly attain , she is my soulmate , she is my only escape , for her i must conquer the odds and i must return to her , for she gave me life , she carried me in her womb it is time i repay her.


And then the stars go blurry , a yellow tint hovers over the horizon , they are calling it ,
a cloud , i can not for the life of me understand why they would call it a mushroom at the same time ?
And then the throbbing starts , i feel as though someone jammed a needle in my throat and my crotch at that very moment , my consciousness drifts ,
as it collides with the memories of my short and unfortunate life.

The words of my dear mother echo in my head as i slip into an abyss of darkness deeper and deeper , instant after instant .

" You are never alone my son , always remember this embrace for it is a treasure you will always have , if not a roof over our heads if no food in our bellies , this is all we will have , our wealth isn't hollow like those who inflict pain on others , it is the warmth we share that matters .

never feel down or unfortunate , because you'll always have me , even if i fall sick and ail all the while , i am your mother , i will always be there for you "

And with that i sensed the long lost vigor in me , i feel as though i can rip an elephant's limbs off and fly as high as an eagle can . In that moment i felt the surge to live and with that I shove myself upward , my limbs desperately fought my instincts to let go and accept the fate.

Drowned was the boy who was a victim , rose an individual anew , not a human , not a god , not a titan , it was a shadow.

An evolution? oh it wasn't anything like that , it was a new being that rose from the ashes of a weakling , the wreckage claimed the entire crew of ENSS Idatchi that day , no survivors , some metallic pools of gore - black blood and guts were all that was left of the titan
The Japanese imperial navy's pride , The ENSS Idatchi.

The inspiration wasn't an embrace .
It was a redemption , i didn't choose to be born , but i sure did choose to be alive today ,
Am i born anew ? i can not say but i can say , i no longer have any fear .

This is my moment of truth , do i get back up and fight my way through this wreckage or do i let go? .....choices....choices ....the only thing i didn't have before, the void is finally filled ,
i have a choice to make .
A life to Live.
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Old 12-23-2014, 11:18 AM
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Default The Opposite of ambition , nightmare where the Shards Burn Bright

The Opposite of ambition , nightmare where the Shards Burn Bright
A note i made in my journal before telling this tale .

It is unnerving to see them pass the buck , every one of them tyrants , they call themselves “keepers of peace” , “generals of a just force”
and “the protectors of the largest republic in the universe” .

Every single day when i turn the leaves of the morning newspaper
ALL i see is : Fear Uncertainty and Doubt .
A thousand fold reports of crime petty...organized .... you name it ..... sometimes i feel as if i live in a world from comicbooks , there is just one difference , there is no batman or
green-arrow to save the scene , the law enforcement however lives upto the comicbook stereotypical reputation of lethargy , corruption and all-around incompetence .

Then comes the point where i start to doubt if there is a social engineering attempt in play here , a conspiracy , a new world order ......

Why does the stereotypical “Free world “ hate communism ? Why would the people being inflicted with any established order keep to it ? It baffles me why in any instance of common folk being ruled by “force” ever comply to it ?

Established people in higher places are charged with leading the people ? why ? why is there order ? Why do some people get to declare there is order ? Why is there society ?
The Athenian Greeks believed they could civilize the world with their innovations ,
look where that landed them , when the savagery of the crusaders driving away all know Pagan cultures took to Raping their culture , at least the war zealot Spartans stood there defending their land and way of life , they didn’t run into the woods when the mobs of savagery came and burnt down their possessions and prizes , no they took to what they did best , FIGHT and even though the abrahamic worshipers overpowered them , they did not die eunuchs they died MEN , with shields in hand adorned with Lambda and crimson cloaks , where were the scholars then ? where were the free spirited poets of Athens ? where were the indigo cloaks and wise men in white tunics preaching economics ? Biting Dust and drinking from the piss bowls of the crusading intruders that’s where.

The fact that man needs a purpose to believe in , it baffles me ,
what is allegiance worth ?
In the instinctous moments when one holds to dear life , do they give into something ?
People Fear the hive mind since forever but they do not realize they are “IT”.

The forces trying to destroy your sense of security aren’t outside , IT is inside of you
The day you have the power , you’d more or less do the same as these men and women have done with you.
if you don’t , you’d not last .

There is “too” much i want to say but i can’t , something asphyxiates me .

Day 2 : The Shards Burn Bright

My vision bloodied and unfocused doesn’t let me recon much , the drill sarg. failed , it seems,
all that boasting all that bragging goes down the drain , was it just a morale keeper , just an old emasculated military hound caressing his insecurities .

He told us how and “if “ we survived bootcamp , we’d go-on to become the pride of this nation’s military .

Being one of the few people with half a brain there , i knew it was not how it was going to be , Elites ? yeah right .

A country which only cares for the army would recognize us as its protectors ,
yeah jest-on brother.

this is not the US military’s beloved USMC that puts Marines first and takes pride in their honor , this is the Indian Navy , which reeks of corruption , Fornicators , ill-procedure , obsolete - inadequate equipment and arsenal , incompetent personal and command .

I’d not remember bootcamp in these seemingly final moments of my existence , it was hell but not like this , not anywhere as much tormenting as this bind i find myself in today.
Binds...Binds...Binds

recovering from the concussion , the feeling in my shoulders return first , i fight my nerves to muffle my desire to scream , as the realization that i can not feel my arms hits me , i slowly lose perspective ..... a blackness ...... an asphyxiating chokehold knocks me down again .
my consciousness drifts away from the body ...again , farther.... farther..... rising away .

Where AM i ?
Who AM i ?

Why , Sankarshan , it is me , I AM .....you ....
do you not remember me sailor , or should i say.... “Marine”......after all , that was the title you yearned for as a kid ?

i am the same voice thats been making you fall in perspective ever since you could form memories ......
i am your conscience , i am your subconsciousness .

I sense the trauma to my throat , hit by hit ..... a torrent of drool , phlegm and blood escapes my mouth
an unimaginable throbbing in my loins followed by stings , hit after hit , make me squeal in pain

and then i regain all my extremities for what seemed like the “instant” .

The chink spits in my eyes and shoves his patent leather boot with the force of an unfathomable strike right between my legs , crushing my manhood into a shriveled mess of blood , bile, urine and flesh .

Another one leaps at me with a power-drill the size of an assault rifle
The drill-head pierces my collar bone and churns my core inside out .

I feel the blackness hovering over me again , inch by inch the stench of humid cold DEATH
engulfs me , i slowly submerge into nothingness and .....................finally ........i am at peace .


EPILOUGE

The popular newspaper read that morning

“The Indian Navy today abandoned the search for its Northern Fleet commander
Vice Admiral Sankarshan Ramanujam .
The Naval Chief of Staff refused to comment on the situation.
However our sources inside the Defense ministry confirm that the MARineCOmmandoS unit that went behind enemy lines to rescue a group of pilgrim indian civilians returned to safety with all the hostages unharmed ,
except for the MARCOS unit’s C/O Vice Admiral Ramanujam
who was captured by the Chinese border patrol forces , just as the navy’s assets were in the process of extracting the mission , there have been no developments since.”

Last edited by Cabin_Marine; 12-23-2014 at 11:25 AM..
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Old 12-23-2014, 11:38 AM
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Default Black snow and Farm stead tools

Black snow and Farm stead tools

Eva Malkhovich “glided” past the hobo alley , acknowledging her daily ‘grimage , the reigning pack of dogs howled in unison , at this a chuckle escaped Eva in response .
The Office Of The Politic Bureau now lay in perfect view of the twilight , the red flag with farmstead tools atop the structure , weakened resolves and demented a few.
The Door didn’t budge or Eva was too early to judge , at once the jaws of the beast flung open like a “slink” toy , never losing its sinister yet comical “creek”.
Out came a man that resembled the human counterpart of an asian “leach”.
Eva shook her head in compliance and graced the lounge with her tier.
The snowflakes were not a joy astounding element in this hellhole , they were treated by the soot-smog from the inferno that the breeze with itself from the icy devastation of Chernobyl carried.
It was past sunrise that the call for the Malkhovichs of the 3rd street came.
Eva could picture herself breaking down before the cue , yet she drifted on through the door towards the clerk , to face what hand her destiny served here.

“ Cmdr. Peter Lawson Malkhovich
Union Of Soviet Socialist Republics Naval Infantry 2nd reconnaissance battalion.
- Official Status : M.I.A at Vladivostok Defense Operations command
- Military intelligence status : Detained Behind Enemy Lines “

The clerk studied Eva’s trembling lip for only a moment .

Before stuffing the crumpled 10 ruble in her clenched fist .

Eva made to home at once , like she used to when Petka was only a child.
In her own innocent way , she made quick of her chores and served her little darling with the best treat she could bestow.
Only this time , there was very little she could do.

Pulling off her “babushka” , her red hair now wet and shimmering with melting soot-black snow, fell under eye quickly succumbing to the attention her well defined nose’s reddish complexion now in the cheeky sunlight claimed , for they were the omens of a coming sickness.

The crumpled “note” now lay among the wood-logs of the fireplace , waiting , on its extinction.

Before incineration , it betrays its 2 byte message right under “Lenin’s nose”.
“ Petka Deserter defect, shame-secret consequence , silence , death or both , choose ”
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Old 12-23-2014, 11:43 AM
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Default Zero Shot Down : The Fall

Zero Shot Down : The Fall

The tale of how the Americans pinned the peace medals to the atomic bombs that they dropped on nihon's soil and "gave them back" , is an often recalled event in the memoirs of the army air corps of the US military and ally forces in general but the tale i today want to recount with you as my witness , is an example of how the victors of the war rewrote history to their convenience and not factual truth .

My birth name used to be Wolfgang Lawrence Dietrich , born to ethnically slavic parents , i was one of the lucky few who were deemed racially clean enough to live and serve Germany in its crusade to cleanse the world of its horrors.

I was commissioned into the SchutzStaffel in accordance to my mentor
Joseph Von Ludwing declaring me his heir and successor to the corps , overnight i was lifted from the slimy barracks of the Wehrmacht serfs and bestowed on the jewels brandished by first officers of the fuhrer himself.
I was stationed on the ENSS Saigo of the imperial Japanese Navy's fleet in the pacific , me and other Germans aboard were part of a ridiculous goodwill exchange between our fuehrer and the faggot who had the fortune to call the bravest sea and air men i am aware of , his subjects and servants .

Renouncing every human expectation for the greater good of the world , these were gods embodying snub nosed little men of shrill voices and slant eyes , every time one of these souls were shot down in his shell another rose from the Saigo to fight with twice the evangelism and conviction of honoring his motherland , the skeletal remains photographed of these men by the American Navy , haunt my dreams to no end , like angels of "just" and "death" they call to me in my dreams , to join them in their eternal song of honor , glory and servitude , each passing night their voices getting louder , closer and demonic .

I saw the Mitsubishi zeros , the shells i mentioned before , yes , they were a reflection to the spirit of the Japanese , a titanium chassis held together by explosive projectile tubes for beams and detonators for bolts , fiery slant eyed men who composed their death verses rode these into battle that claimed even their shells and not just their ammunition for offensive maneuvers .

Our own pride the stukas while belonging to the same tier of military aircrafts weren't anywhere in the league of these spawns of death glided by the dwarfish slant eyed devils.

From my humble beginnings as only a private in the Naval Infantry corps of the Wehrmacht made me a lenient officer in general , my fellow officers gave me endless shit for treating the footmen pawns "humanly" and not like "maggots" which is how they apparently thought the commons should be.

Naturally i was a benevolent figure among the men , their father figure , their only patron who offered to hear their most intimate thoughts without any fear of repercussion or consequence , quite a few friendships were forged in the hellish humid heat of the pacific and under the intoxicated influence of the best Nipponese sake the vessel's rations could offer.

One such man stood out among them , ironically i never could get his name but he always pronounced mine like he was an anglo-saxon aristocrat with an education in European literature , not exaggerating at all.
This individual hardly past puberty was the jester of his platoon from what i could understand in their cryptic tongue , he wasn't exactly trained to fly , instead he was charged in his official role as the brooms-man for the deck and carrier .
A job he did with the sincerest of his concentration mixed with the humorous wit from the sharp of his tongue , many a scars from lashings were awarded to him by the Japanese officers from time to time but this fellow just could not help himself no matter how painful the “backlashes” were, he was not a jester by choice but by nature .

I remember the day he finally graduated to a zero , although the atmosphere aboard the vessel was cataclysmic at the time , yet i couldn't help but gaze for several moments at the halo of this young man strapping himself in this growling shell of death , ready to honor his existence by extinction and to thus achieve salvation.

Like a proud parent i saw him perishing in the countless flames in the pacific sky that day , yet my eyes were only set on finding him,
no matter how much i tried to focus , the enemy's line of fire kept forcing us into the shades of the deck , where i couldn't track who for who worth shit.

Last thing i remember before waking up in an American military hospital , is a growling lion leaping at me with its claws reaching awkwardly, as if they were detached feathers , amputating the skulls of my men-at-arms in the shades. First it flung at the iron cross on my uniform and then it tore away a chunk off my abdomen before knocking me over the rails .
I remember falling , A lion falling.
A zero falling with no slant eyed devil to bear my place in this misery .

Charged with crimes against humanity ,i now lie here staring in the face of death , hoping you to be my messenger to a world i lost in the battle of the pacific .

Verbatim present them this memoir , for fiction , hearsay and truth only have a thin border among their boundaries.
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Old 12-23-2014, 11:47 AM
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Default Leopards among the leeches

Leopards among the leeches

A trip of paranoia :

The Men are growing paranoia on the underside of their covers , i often catch the navy corpsman humming the hymn of the corps.
The thing with joint operations is they often beget envy among the wings of the military peers.
Military life is mostly about co-operation , take the ancient Greeks or the current patrol party’s misadventures in Ho-chi-min , of which yours truly has been a part ever since his induction in the 2nd reconnaissance battalion of the first marines .

I was recruited from a war time draft stint , as luck would have it they landed me into the USMC , the wing with the most casualties per mission of the whole conflict.
I never chose to be a marine , i was inflicted with that burden , being the county idiot , nobody back home expected i’d actually be shipped off to ‘Nam with even the Army , let alone become a Marine Officer and serve in the campaigning Recon. battalion in the heart of the enemy territory.

It is not as much heroics here as the newspapers back home make it to be , often i’ve seen lads with soiled pants and piss drenched bootlegs.

By the time , i am writing this , the scandalous nature of the American Military’s involvement with the trade of intoxicating substances , prostitution and gambling rackets in the land of Vietnam is cold soup being licked by the hobo runts of the print and electronic media hounds .

We were stationed here to fight a war against the evil communist powers of the eastern world , The NVA and other insurgent groups bullying the freedom of trade and other liberties in this country of rich yet rustic rice-grain cultivators .

The peers have taken to calling them “Gooks” or “zipper-heads” , however discussion on such puny trivia isn’t the purpose of this note .

The conditions here are not humane enough to setup an HQ for our squad , it rains too much and the bug bites never cease .
pushing ourselves we do our jobs and pray to live another day every second of our existence , not a day goes by that i lose a degree of lucidity and sound superficial judgment .

My superior Officers remind me at each pep-talk how we are ensuring freedom for future generations of Americans , that our suffering and sacrifices will ensure their survival and prosperity , each splashing step in the quicksand here is a giggle in the nursery there , for years to come , how every suture wound on this battlefield , a grin on a li’l child’s face over at the land of the free.
I do not jest often but the situations do call for it , or so we’ve learned to tune our sense of humor for .

It is awfully bright today , brighter than the 4th of july back home .


Epilogue :
In the final days of the Vietnam conflict , the US withdrew its troops leaving behind a few , unwilling to return home , those who weren’t attracted by the life of a veteran hated by his own country and instead chose a life of drug running and civil unrest , doing for the rest of their lives what they spent their prime years doing .
These young men drafted as adolescents , were now adults , who preferred the life of leopards among the leeches , they didn’t choose , “They Were Drafted” here .
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Old 12-23-2014, 11:52 AM
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Default What if Infants fought our wars :

What if Infants fought our wars

The night was gloomy and wet as always , yet tonight the weather would outclass the bounds of its predicaments and all those who play a gamble through it.
The dusty cold floor is practically glued to my hind by now , unforgiving , maybe a hundred like me have suffered through this , the hands of our masters in this bind ,reach far and blinded , unforgiving , words of men .... wiser men , not according to me , if you ask me but according to my comforter , my Chaplin in this realm of doom , i am condemned to .

I was born to an abusive monster and a loving mother , opposites of each other in every walk and bend of life but otherwise nearly conventional folk , there isn’t much they could have taught me
all through the years they beat and nurtured me respectively one out of frustration but the other out of desperate redeeming love .

I went to sunday service just for the communion wafers really , body of christ , a testament , a token of accepting god in the depths of your soul they say , being a poor little lad who couldn’t afford no candy , the trade of an hour’s worth of hearing stories ,didn’t seem anywhere like a bad trade in exchange for a confectionery that’d possibly redeem me of my sins and free my soul of its sinful mortal bounds but that part didn’t make any impression on me back then , afterall it was the tasty sugary treat i cared about , it wasn’t the faith in god but the lust for a moment’s delight that was bringing me to the chapel , weekend after weekend , every beating that left behind bruises on my soul were somehow healed by the lord’s grace and the “dopemin”
secreted in my brain upon placing the body of christ in my mouth each sunday morning .


With my mother on my side , watching me enjoy this embrace of god , joy dribbling down in my smile , to say the least , it made her day , she never could talk to me about toys , to say it plainly, we could never afford any and the ones we could never survived the wrath of the alcoholic monster her husband was , everytime she saw me stare at a child with a new shiny toy from the city , she could do nothing but divert me from it , as she laughed and sang with me , desperately trying to give me a loving memory of her actions, giving me a chance at a life where the moment of deprivation was outwitted by the giggle of her voice and the song of our duet , as ever could she tried , her best to get me what she could but as luck would have it that everything never could amount to anything substantial that the monster didn’t take from her , don’t get me wrong , i am not angry at the animal , i am not capable of it , years of being taught to turn the other cheek , i was chastised , tamed even of my voluntary will to retract vengeance , i was wrestled into submission by words and promises never to raise a hand in judgment.

But the moral compass with the pointy needle of retribution deep inside my soul was not going to prostrate this easy , the bloodlust the savage nature of earning respect and reverence in this world makes me want to hang myself just to express my frustration , you can never take my bitterness from me, not unless you touch me through this repulsive poisonous exterior of contempt and distrust i have formed like a cocoon around my being , as natures laws would dictate it , not many earn their way through .
In the wake of me coming of age , i had to think what i wanted to do with my life , so one insomniac night i began to recollect my memories from when i was an impressionable little child .

As most things impassioned on one’s character the thoughts of abuse , violence and anger came first but when the fit passed and the rage lost its toll , the moments of renunciation and the sheer willpower my mother displayed in shielding me from the negativity of the world ,
in those moments of distraction , they were the only treasured memories i could ever commit to the brief collection of happiness my heart could rely on in moments of its turmoil .

Being a creature of instincts and emotions , i knew , i had to do something about the imploding rage inside of me , this will not be valor , this will not be courage of any form or stature , this will be my revenge , this is my only outlet .

I joined the navy that fall under the temptation of letting off the torrents of lava my rage had fermented into from all those years of abuse and suppression of retribution , all of it against the enemy , i wanted to serve as a rifleman in combat , and so i volunteered and was promptly shipped off to the Korean territory of the pacific ocean to serve aboard the USS Texas .
As part of an elite NATO spec. ops team , i was tasked along with my mates to recon. the Seoul border offensives the enemy had laid for us ,
the events that followed in the next few hours ,changed , Who and What i was inside.

After surviving the Amphibious drop on a secluded part of the Korean peninsula land.
we ran for cover , not out of precaution but out of extreme survival instinct , as we feared , the drop zone wasn’t free of hostile patrol and with our gear we were spotted like christmas lights in june .

The alliance was new but such an intel disaster was way too convenient to be just a simple blunder , were we mules ? just cannon markers , sacrificial bait heads to lure out the prey ?

No matter, if it were a setup or an actual blunder , either way it was the end of us , or so i thought at the time.


Sprinting for our lives we lost track of each other , i could only makeout 3 of my squadmates anywhere in sight , hiding behind an ancient rock crater which centuries of being crafted by the waves made a smooth as terracotta surface sill for a weary being like me to hide .

I could hear the sirens in the immediate vicinity , matching every shreik with a heartbeat of mine
a synchronized ballet of fear and beauty , if i wasn’t running for my life i’d admire the art but as things stood , i needed a diversion and i needed it now.

suddenly i heard a flare shooting up , the 7th general order of our platoon echoed in my head as i tried to piece together the chaos .

“when in a situation of peril , it is expected to designate yourself as a target and let your peers escape , regroup and stigmatize a plan of action to bail each and every one of your jarhead arses out of danger’s claws.”

someone had deliberately give away their exact position in hiding so that i and the others could escape undetected as the hostiles were now focused on the flare and the distraction it brought with its orange smoke of humility .

dashing through the crafty terrain of the peninsula i could remember my pain , the years of abuse came to me in a blow on the back of the head from a rifle’s butt .

i was reduced to a lucid world above our own now , that place between life and death that people so often speculate about maybe i was there , i found it no more interesting than an acid trip mixed with my memories .

i was forced to live through my childhood once again .
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Old 12-23-2014, 11:58 AM
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Anger Spite and Humanity

Day 1: The pickle

I remember my mother telling me about the nest of the hummingbird , she praised the genius engineering the tiny creature explores in building the structure , the symmetry of the curves is like poetry detailing the functionality and invulnerability against the natural elements in the most dire of its applications , when in the harshest realities of whirlwinds and unforgiving thunderstorms the structure stands dry and unearthed , the little bird prides its creation and in the reality of how she buys some extra months of ailment free lives for its hatch-lings .

IT wasn’t exactly an inspiration to be a better being , it was a mock , a shrill goddamn taunt piercing my innocence , scarring my radiating carefree childish smile free of judgment , she was my first experience with the bigotry the human nature is built on , the duality of the soul could never be so seamlessly conveyed from one to another as it was from my mother to me , it was nothing in itself


she took me to copy some homework off a classmate i wasn’t so fond of by itself , being things as they were , she took one good-look at his god forsaken crypts and declared him to be a superior scribe to me and she didn’t stop at that she had to humiliate me with this utter statement of contempt of how i couldn’t be “him” , robbing me of my individuality she had the audacity to crush down anything i thought of myself , she called herself , no scratch that ,she in her own twisted sense cared for me and hence inflicted the burden of being another and not “me” , not me but the neighbor’s son , i felt so down that moment that just to have some sense of dominance i wanted to rip the poor boy’s head off , i wanted to bathe in his blood , to eradicate his existence from the same planet that we three shared the soil of .


when in my early twenties i confronted her with it , her attitude never changed , she still believed what she did was right , that there was an established order to the “scribe” and that “originality” meant very little , that liberty and freedom of expression were not qualities desired when you had convenience at your hand , because a human being is nothing more than a used tampon , a convenient tool in the menstruating machinery of society , that our reality is nothing but what is convenient to the people herding us , in response to absolute spite , anger and realizing how she robbed me of my originality i was now a lesser being with no sense of composition just a machine that could follow orders and be ruled upon but just for torment’s sake couldn’t escape his emotions , every time i saw a hummingbird a part of me admired it and the other part of me which rules me wanted to crush the head of the innocent little creature just to express how much i was hurt inside that now everything that could build something more complex than a shoebox was a testament to that moment of humiliation , a constant reminder of how i wasn’t good enough , i wanted to be away from her reach , somewhere where she had no authority or say in my destiny , where i could earn my honor by the sweat of my brow and not by the convenience of my master , the marine corps recruit depot in San Diego California gave me a glimmer to pursue , upon joining bootcamp i severed all ties with her and spent every single moment of my life training to become someone she didn’t make me.

A marine , a dog of war - howling for blood , an unforgiving killer with no allegiance but to the corps of my men at arms , the only woman i loved was my M16 which was an extension of my existence since basic.

i was atlast not her no-good for nothing son , that she humiliated , now i was a Gunnery Sargent in the most fierce military wing in the world , i was now a respected officer in the
United States Marine Corps , wearing the crest of the crossed guns on my biceps i knew i was supposed to be the human incarnation of aggression , agression with a fineness in kills but deep within the reckless me , hungry for subhuman slaughter that demon never left me .

Day 2: The Redemption

Crouching behind a pine , bleeding from my shin , i am gripped
not horror , not shock , not FEAR
but strategy , a tap on my shoulder startles my concentration , the corporal asked for the envelope of “ordinance” to drive home , time was as good as any , handed to him.


Corporal Jacobs rushed himself to his former post to hide and wait for extraction , knowing , foreseeing what circus i would now attempt , guess this is one of the many firsts for america afterall .

my eardrums are buzzing , this is an annoying noise , i know it from somewhere , it is a hum.
a bright flash and i am back at the neighbor’s house being scolded for my scribe but only now do i notice the name under my essay , signed in faded blue ,
the hummingbird blues by Hunter .S. Klaus .

An excerpt from Lt. Commander Ken White M.D. ’s log for the night’s autopsies :

“The subject’s anatomy has suffered severe amputations and 4th degree burns on the parts intact , cause of death : trauma from enveloping landmine explosions .”

Mam..... are you the mother of Sgt. Klaus , he saved my life in the grass mam , before he went and stepped on it , giving us a bridge of his bones to cross the stream of death laid against us , he told me to deliver this before he went ......


Mrs Klaus opened the bundle with a blank expression , only to throw it down and walk away.
the rep. sheet , attributing Sgt. Klaus’s combat valor and other achievements lay on the sidewalk for the world to see , only one doctored line in the text , handwritten in black ink .

“ You Drove Me Away” .
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Old 12-24-2014, 06:11 AM
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I skimmed through since there were so many posted, but I saw a fallacy in the story "Opposite of Ambition". The allusion of Athens and Sparta falling is a very good one, but the historical reference you used is not correct. Athens fell to Sparta at the end of the Peloponesian War, and Sparta was inducted into Rome a couple centuries later. The Jewish Abrahamians lost power in the 9-8th centuries bce and fluxes back and forth between Persians and Assyrians until Rome took them over in the 1st century bce. The Christian empire didn't rise from Rome until the 3rd century ce with Emperor Constantine and the treaty of Milan. Then came the constant battles of the Aryan creed and the like over the trinity. Not until Justinian did it actually become founded as he reunited the fractured dynasty.
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Old 12-24-2014, 11:04 AM
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Originally Posted by daes13 View Post
I skimmed through since there were so many posted, but I saw a fallacy in the story "Opposite of Ambition". The allusion of Athens and Sparta falling is a very good one, but the historical reference you used is not correct. Athens fell to Sparta at the end of the Peloponesian War, and Sparta was inducted into Rome a couple centuries later. The Jewish Abrahamians lost power in the 9-8th centuries bce and fluxes back and forth between Persians and Assyrians until Rome took them over in the 1st century bce. The Christian empire didn't rise from Rome until the 3rd century ce with Emperor Constantine and the treaty of Milan. Then came the constant battles of the Aryan creed and the like over the trinity. Not until Justinian did it actually become founded as he reunited the fractured dynasty.
How does it overall feel , the tone and appeal of the work , some armature's attempt at recreating a 15 year old's journal of fantasies or outright stolen from one?
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Old 12-24-2014, 12:45 PM
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It definitely has the feel of a journal or discourse to it.
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