Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26386569-20150510131952

It's difficult to describe the terror I felt. That I still feel.

Fear in its purest form isn't something that can be reiterated or relived. It's something you understand in the moment then once it's gone you're left with an indelible mark. A weight that you carry till death. The fear I felt all those years ago consumed a part of me, as if coals fuelling a fire. Once consumed, that fuel was to never be replaced.

My shrink calls this affliction post traumatic stress disorder. That title always struck me as underwhelming. I'm not a religious man, but even so - being  lunged into the deep despair that only the pits of dark hell can maintain, adequately describes my predicament. I feel as if I am still being consumed by the smouldering embers of my past. Of its, past. He sits on my shoulder, in the corner of my eye, even now. He tickles my neck with his breath. Hovering, always present, relentlessly and without mercy. His haunting eroding me day on day night on night.

So here I sit, on my stained bed with my stained mind, replaying it over and over. Without pause without relief. Oh god! What I'd do for just one moment of my own. I have to close my eyes, they sting. My muscles feel like they're withering, my mouth is dry and my lips crusted. I stroke my taught blotchy skin, strumming my exposed ribs. I need to rest. Maybe things will be better in the morning, maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

My heart punches as I open my eyes with a harsh flinch. The gaps between my bear toes fill with a bloody mulch. Contorted children lay peacefully around me, their lips torn off, their tongues ripped out and their gums exposed. They watch me as I walk. The whites of their eyes blood shot and external of their sockets. The forest grows tall around me. I traverse the landscape, dodging the dead as I go. My armour does not protect me, my camo does not hide me. The smouldering remnants of the locals overwhelm my senses. This is my home, I am a hostage to it. I belong to this moment now and forever. I am taunted by the presence, perhaps the forest itself, perhaps the souls of the dead that lie around me. They hold me responsible.

The tree line begins to encroach, I scream at the radio for help, the uninterrupted static taunts me. The roots of trees wind in and out of the deep wet earth, dragging trunks in their stead. I turn to run. The blood, the mud, the ashes, the ammo all rise together, crippling me, holding me down. The children utilize their remaining limbs to drag their rotten corpses across the stained black earth, they wish to punish me for what I have done, for what I have helped achieve. I am helpless, I piss my pants as roots shoot into every orifice, the children tear and rip at my ears and cheeks, the mud and blood rises over my neck and down my throat, I inhale as I panic and fit. I deserve this, I asked for this.

Relief. I violently gasp clean crisp air as I bolt upright. The dull light of my apartments bulb greets me reassuringly. I struggle to regain control over myself. Focusing on the gentle drops of rain that trickle outside my window, I eventually become settled. The chill of cold piss on my thigh. The warmth of hot sweat drenching my hair. It was morning, and I had slept for 9, maybe 10 hours. It was not a better day, its grip had tightened and its weight buckled my knees as I tried to stand.





Gravity is my enemy, I fight it constantly, especially now as I strain to lift what's left of me out of bed. I had to try one more time, one more day. Today I am to meet a friend, a veteran I fought with. After years of searching I had finally made contact and it is my hope that the weight he too carries, has not yet destroyed him.

I clean myself up, dress myself and go for the door. The moment I grab the handle to the moment I leave the apartment building is always strenuous. Taking the time to gain the courage isn't an option, I must lunge myself towards the outside world lest I be defeated by it. Pause creates panic. I'm out, deep breathes. My ears are ringing and my vision is blurred. It's raining, it's always raining.

Three streets down is an old bar me and Bill used to drink at on the weekends, the blind lady. She was our lady let me tell you. The nights we had went down in history. I can scarcely remember the man I was then, I reach out to him in my mind, begging him to drag me back.

I'm relieved to be inside again, three men slouched over the bar strain to turn their heads as the door closes behind me. They look me up and down, grunt simultaneously, and continue to sip their livers away. I take a seat in one of the booths, not our booth, our booth had gone. The dark ripped red leather creaks as I lower my weight, it's cold to the touch. As my eyes readjust to the dull light an old withered form comes into focus in the far corner of the bar, his laboured wheezy breathing rising and lowering his body. His spine was exposed, even through his thick jacket. He begins to drift slowly towards me without standing. As he hovered gently toward me, his clothing disintegrated and dissolved, dissipating as fine embers into the air. It revealed itself as a moist cold form that buckled and twisted. With a final jolt of speed, after what felt like an eternity, it was within inches of my face, yet still completely hidden. Not black or shadowed, but instead a negative space from which whispers of untold misery and pain were injected deep into my mind. Frozen with fear, my chest pained by the strain of my laboured and panicked breath, it lunged at me then into me.

I leapt from my seat screaming,  to be greeted by a more familiar voice, Bills voice. "What's wrong with you man are you ok?". The men hunched over the bar were now staring at me with wide curious eyes. Trembling, I plummet to my seat with a thud. "Yeah man sit, sit, shit man what was that all about?", he looked at me in bewilderment as I resettled back to reality. "Well I don't need to ask how you're doing" he chuckled sarcastically. I managed to force a small smile from the side of my mouth as I calmed. Passing me a pint of beer he continued to evaluate me, looking me up and down, his expression changed and stayed changed shortly after.

We shared a brief glance that soon became awkward. "Long time since we last spoke Fin, why now, why after all this time? You know straight after we got home I called you for months. I was alone and you ignored me. Every night I woke up hitting and screaming into thin air and where the fuck were you? Out putting your dick in anything that moved, as high as christ himself on god knows what - and yet here you are, asking me for help. My wife, my kids, they left you know". Distain stretched his features across his face.

Another long pause. "I'm sorry to hear that" I replied disingenuously. He scowled at me for a time after this, evaluating me from behind greasy matted strands of dark brown hair. "He's fucking sorry he says. Sorry doesn't give me back my life Fin, sorry doesn't stop..." he stuttered and paused.

"Stop what, Bill?".

<p class="MsoNormal">His leg began to twitch, his foot tapping the floor nervously as he chewed his nails and stared at the floor. "That night we were in Binh, when we were...",

<p class="MsoNormal">"What night?" I interrupted.

<p class="MsoNormal">"What night?! the night. You don't remember? You seriously can't remember?"

<p class="MsoNormal">I dug through the recesses of my mind for some time, but it was all a blur at this point. You don't remember hell as separate layers, just a brutal succession. Bill sighed in preparation. We sat in silence for many minutes before he continued. "You don't remember anything then, not anything about that night?". He read my confusion, shooting me a concerned glare.

<p class="MsoNormal">Pinching the bridge of his nose Bill started to speak with a shaky voice and a stark distant expression. "We were sixty four clicks out from Saigon, stationed at a recently commandeered village. It was a simple order, intel told us there wasn't a sign of Charlie for miles around, so we settled in. You don't remember any of this?" My expression must have been clearly read because he continued immediately. "The forest was loud that night, it rained so the bugs were breedin' hard at it. I remember feeling the chill, then hearing, or not hearing I guess, the silence. That fucking spooked me more than anything man, it was like god himself muted the forest and all its creatures in one millisecond. The bombs, the screams, the fucking war cries were a blanket of comfort compared to that god damned peace. God left us shortly after. I got out of my hammock and went to the tree line to see what was happening and there it stood bold as brass. I nearly puked half my guts and shit the rest man."

<p class="MsoNormal">He hesitated, struggling to continue.

<p class="MsoNormal">"It fucking had you, it fucking had you. Hundreds of critters sat beside both of you, staring at you. Monkeys, pigs, lizards the whole god damned contents of noahs ark was there to watch. I couldn't fucking move I didn't know what to do, it wasn't human I could have shot it but I didn't. I still don't know why. They were statue still man, humming, this low methodical mwah mwah mwah over and over again. Then all at once they stopped and turned, looked me dead in the eye, every single god damned one locked on me, then they ran. It took you. It was there one second gone the next. It fucking took you. It fucking took you into the forest..."

<p class="MsoNormal">"We didn't see you for weeks, and then there you were. You stumbled into camp, you hadn't eaten, hadn't slept. You passed out from panic then the following day you went mute. You didn't speak to any of us for weeks, you just stayed in your tent humming that same fucking mwah mwah mwah. We nearly reported you, had you sectioned".

<p class="MsoNormal">I clenched my fists hard to stop my hands shaking. My eyes and throat were swelled. I tried to talk, I tried to rationalised what I had just heard but there was nothing I could do. I panicked as Bill stood to leave. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have come here, I'm sorry."

<p class="MsoNormal">I chased him to the door and hesitated as it swung open. Out on the street I begged him to wait. The rain muffled my cries as people stared. I pleaded to him while he waved down a cab. He was gone. I opened my palm to find a bar mat. Professor Hazel McConnohie of Michogan University, an email was scribbled onto it. It was something. I ran back into the bar and drank till closing, steadily building the courage to walk home.

<p class="MsoNormal">I don't remember how I got myself home, but I was grateful to be here. There is this wonderful few seconds when a person wakes up, where they have not yet remembered their life, or where they are, or who they are. That moment before reality gets a hold of you again and repositions you firmly over the barrel. Those few seconds are what I live for, but today even they had been taken from me. I awoke gasping, another dream. I was wet - I must have pissed my pants again, it was warm this time at least.

<p class="MsoNormal">I was bleeding. Leaping from my bed I stroked my body frantically to find a wound, to no avail. I tripped and fell, my hands landing on a soft wet surface. They sank into a body that lay on the dark hardwood floor of my apartment. A foul stench emanated aggressively as I flailed, trying to stand. I slipped and fell again, this time on my side, I screeched. My eyes finally focused as I regained posture. The severity of the situation became apparent. There were three of them, a woman a man and a child. All dead. All skinned. All with their lips severed and their gums exposed. They were still alive, their heads locked in unison onto me. Their mouths opened gradually as their screams grew louder, gurgling on their own blood. Their jaws snap which jolted their mouths open further. A thick black gelatinous tar oozed from within them and flowed across the floor toward me, reaching my bear feet and burning my toes.

<p class="MsoNormal">I pass out. I wake up. Clear floor. "Shit..." I exhaled in relief. The nails on my toes had been removed. I would scream if I had the energy.

<p class="MsoNormal">One more day, I have to try. Just one more day.

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<p class="MsoNormal">spiritually parasitic

<p class="MsoNormal">list of symptoms - her to list some that  hasnt happend

<p class="MsoNormal">like a parasite it must leave its host to continue the lifecycle, like a flee out of furr, this often involves them coming into our realm and manifesting themselves in a physical mortal form.

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<ac_metadata title="An untitled work in progress - needs beta reading and constructive feedback"> </ac_metadata>