Tuesday, 26 October 2010

Blood In The Sand's Story

It is morning and I lie in bed staring at the broken light hanging from the broken fixing. I should get up, make some tea, eat and venture into the world but I can’t. I’m too scared. I close my eyes and leering faces with no lips scream at me and I begin to cry.

A brown letter falls through the front door. I sit and stare at it as I smoke the last of the drugs I spent the last of my money on. Smoke rings pop out of my mouth and I trace my finger over the decision in my hands.
My war pension has been denied. No money, as I am not really that ill. I strip naked and howl into a mirror and then I cut. Pale flesh splits beneath the blade and crimson fluid oozes out and I am insane.

My wounds are inside me. I have no crutch to lean against or wheelchair to be pushed. Instead I have dead boys in my mind and war in my dreams. So I scream in silence and hate the world for existing. I push food into my mouth and sob as I remember dead kids.

Charity comes to my aid as Government officials ignore my pleas. PTSD cripples me, some days the world is good and I smile. Other days I gibber and drool as memories refuse to stay hidden away. I am young and unemployed. I stood in the line.

Today is a good day. Today I have respite from the war, but still I have no money so I shave in cold water and stand tall. I don’t look disabled as I walk down the road. I look healthy and young. But night time will fall and at night time they come...

Blood In The Sand's Blog

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