Nine nine nine, the phone rings. 'Emergency which service do you require?' a female voice, metallic uncaring. Flashes in the night sky and I am there again.
'Fucking all of them, and make sure Plod has guns. I'm going to kill someone.'
Silence, then a cough. The woman composes herself and sighs.
'Hoax calls...' I cut her off mid sentence. 'Fuck you love, fuck this country, fuck the world. Tell them to bring guns.'
The television had shown troops in yellow swarming across a desert. Hazy green images, night vision. Tracer spiralled into the sky and my mind broke. My girl was 8 months pregnant. New life grew in her belly and children were dying again, because we are at war again.
I walked away from the news, out into the world and made a phone call. I couldn't breathe and my chest pounded. Small arms cracked in the distance, in my mind; then children ran past giggling. I screamed at them.
'Stand To'
They laughed some more and I ripped off my shirt. 'Fuck off... DO IT NOW' The kids ran and I fell to my knees. I didn't know what year it was and I thumped the tarmac to prove it wasn't sand. A cigarette and a moment to reflect, time to think.
An old lady wandered over. 'Are you OK love?' I shook my head and pushed the burning cigarette into my face. 'They're all dead' I started to laugh, got up and ran. Fear filled my veins, ice water. I found a bar.
Walking in unable to think straight. I must be dreaming. Kids are dying and folk are laughing, playing pool, drinking cold beer. What year is it? I ask a man and he laughs at me, they all do.
I am semi naked, burnt and frightened. I see a mans face, tattoos and anger. Fear becomes blurred and violence erupts. The pub is now silent and I am insane with terror. 'Where's my fucking weapon?' Blank faces, blue lights.
Two female Police officers ask to speak with me outside. I nod and allow them to handcuff me. Outside men are waiting, yellow jackets and flashing lights. I'm pushed into a wall and it hurts.
In the Police Station a Sergeant asks me my name, I ask him what year it is. He tells me to stop being a prick. I ask him again. His patience is worn and he tells his men to take me to a cell.
They want to take off my boots. I see a dead boy, one boot shredded. Dirty toe nails, thick black hair and no face.
'You're not having my boots'
A fist slams into the side of my head and my wrists are twisted against the cuffs. I scream and punches rain in. I cry out as I get beaten. On the floor now, kicks and more punches. I vomit and choke. Darkness comes.
I wake up, more fear. Panic now sets in, so I bang on the door. 'Shut up you dick' unseen voices taunt me, as I plead for water and my meds. I need the pills that stop the terror. 'Help me...'
I am given a cup of water. I beg the hand delivering it to call my Doctor, call my mum. I need my pills. Laughter and words are what I get 'Not so brave now are you?' I'm told to piss in my cell, so I fill the cup.
I bang at the door, again and again. Discipline, the will to go on, I still have this. The hatch drops and the Sergeant speaks 'I'm getting bored of you sunshine' I launch the piss at him, howling a war cry.
They leave me on the floor crying, broken. More fists and boots crashed in and I am ready to surrender, all fight now gone. I go inside my mind. I pick up a severed hand, cold and stiff. I wave it at the boy with no face and dirty toe nails. The car full of dead people has a flat tyre and I laugh. Who's going to change that?
Then I scream. Over and over. Men come in and walk out and still I scream. A woman holds my hand and I scream. My Doctor sits in the cell so I scream at him. As I shuffle out I look at the Desk Sergeant. I mouth a word at him and he looks to the floor, 'Soldier'
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