2352
The face on the clock is barely visible in the moonlight. The bottle in my hand is getting lighter at what should be an alarming rate. I'm almost out of cigarettes. Nothing in the pill cabinet will knock me out. My ears ring with the phantom echoes of explosions, gunfire and screams that are a world away. The only sounds here are the music playing from the old record player in the corner of the room and the crickets outside my window. I've walked the perimeter with my gat three times, nothing there. But they're out there. I can feel it in my blood. My brain knows I'm home but my body won't believe it. I don't deserve to be here. I don't belong in this world of families and picket fences. Of 9-to-5 jobs and church on Sunday. I don't smell the familiar scents of home cooking lingering in the kitchen. I smell blood and shit and smoke. It won't go away.
0007
The bottle is almost empty, but I'm still here. The dull throb of the birds, the whistle of the shells, the shrieks of the fast-movers fills my ears. The rum burns my throat, but it does nothing to help me forget. My parents told me they were taking me to a ballgame this morning. I grabbed my rifle, I'm so fucking broken that I forgot what that was supposed to mean. You can take the grunt out of the boonies, but I can't get the boonies out of me. I threw my own flesh and blood brother out a window yesterday when he dropped a glass right behind me. I followed him out and had a knife to his throat before I even knew what happened.
0127
I walked the perimeter again. The first bottle is empty, so I busted the lock off the old man's cabinet and took one of his. I need it more anyway. Got called a jive turkey by a bro yesterday when I asked for a bowl. Apparently skin color still matters in the World. Reminded me of 8-Ball. Red blood and white bone standing out on black skin as he cried. I want to cry, but all the tears are still in country.
0311
It's grunt o'clock, and it makes my skin crawl. I'm a fucking animal. A Goddamn monster. I should have stayed there. My leg won't stop twitching, I've been clutching my K-Bar for who knows how fucking long, didn't even realise it was in my hand. Took the old man's smokes off his night stand. He didn't even twitch when I opened the door. Made me sick that he was so deep. Could have gutted him and nobody would have noticed. What the fuck is wrong with me. I'm reaching for my clutch belt every few minutes. I should just grab my piece and climb the six foot ladder. It's an old bolter, but it'll do. The second bottle is empty. I miss the bac si de. It burned like nape, but it got you numb.