A.N: My grandfather was a Vietnam war vet. He told this story to my uncle, who relayed it to me as was my request. I had to have my 'artistic way' with it, and turn it in as part of an English assignment. I'm not gonna vie for reviews, just enjoy. Maybe. But critiques are always welcome.
Jungle Filigree
Buzzing, white hot, and Electric. Zapping. A minuscule bug war raging, against the shell of my ear. It was nothing that poetic, actually, just annoying-shits of bugs harassing my senses in the overwhelming mugginess, as if the war wasn't enough. Fan-fucking-tastic. I don't know who's bright idea it was to set up camp near stagnant water; but I'm going to kill them. That is, unless the Japs beat me to it.
Scratch that, God forbid we let those fuckers take anymore of our men. 'Mutt' was the last to go, shot clean through the chest cavity by a Japanese soldier known for licking the bones of his victims. It was a shitty loss for our squad, he had the best hearing you could ever find on a twenty year old with self proclaimed ADD. We all got our nicknames, and everyone called me 'horse-eye', "dumber than a horse", they said, but with the best eyesight -I could see the gleam of a spider web at night, even when the moon was absent, and shrouded in the forest; most nights, it was. The Japanese would set traps rigged with fishing wire, the bastards, and I was the only one to ever find them.
"Get up, you dumb piece of fuck!" Beautiful word choice, Sir, I see you finally unhinged yourself from that wet-cooze of a woman you carry with you. How's your herpes? Still raging I assume.
"The fuck you smirking at? Raid is in an hour, if you're not ready we'll drown you in that river." It's a pond, but suit yourself. Oh, is he waiting for a nod? Let's give him a salute, it'll tickle his peach.
"Cheeky bastard."
Oh, go fuck your slut. It's was colonels fault that today, I didn't get to lead the raid. We'd travel in packs, and search for traps in la drang valley. According to my squad, I needed a "break." Jealous bastards, they are. I should have let that bomb detonate and blow them all up. Today, "Tall motherfucker" was to lead the raid. At six feet and seven inches, it wouldn't be a surprise if his head got stuck in the trees. Tall motherfucker gets all the shits and giggles, while I bring up the rear. I'm special. I hope we all get blown up.
An hour, he said. Why on God's green earth do we need an hour to get ready? To put on our makeup and dresses? To properly 'suit up'? All the armor I need is the hair on my balls. I have my eyesight, I'll be fine.
The moon is out tonight. Hanging just above the trees, and coating the earth in a slippery gray. It was strange, to see slivers of glowing moonlight in between the wet and drooling black of the trees. My hand pulled out before me, became suddenly spattered with the broken aurora of the moonlight. If I had been sensitive, or a woman, I could have described it as 'beautiful and glowing filigree'.
"Hey, Horse-eye, you ready?"
Please remove your hand from my shoulder, and I will be. How shall I reply? I'll let my head loll to the side, and give him a sideways glance, good, that's nonchalant.
"You ok there, buddy?" I suppose I can put down my hand, that must look strange.
"Please remove your hand from my shoulder, Sir."
"Will do." Oh, so you amble away, quite rude of you.
"Teeen-Hut!" We gather like packs of ants around a bread crumb, hungry and eager (although not lusting for food, but the thrill of every raid.) The collective buzz of the energy of bees, shimmied through us. Raw and sick, I was ready.
"There are five main areas to check! I have informed your leader of these! Follow his orders, and good luck, men! Go go go!" Such an enthusiastic run-down was far from necessary, yet my spirits were lifted high.
The jungle was alive, today. The trees whispered sweet nothings, as we ducked behind them for protective covering, hiding from the slightest sound. Tall motherfucker was doing a shitty job, two traps were left unnoticed, and I disarmed them silently, behind the pack. It was quieter than death, the jungle engulfed us in a sac of liquid-air, womb-like, and intimate. After every raid, eye-contact wasn't made for at least a week, as if we'd all seen each other's dicks. It was a kind of intimacy that settled in the cleavage of your brain and harvested itself. The dampness filled our lungs with a pervasive closeness. It was the kind of intimacy that should be left unspoken of. The word poison comes to mind, addiction, need. Truth be told, this jungle thrives on us, sucking away our life and sweat to feed it's children.
There's something unsettled here, the heavy thudding of Tall motherfucker's boots against the softened earth. The utter and all consuming silence. Human words now escape me, this feeling could easily be mistaken for dread. A premonition, a screaming sense of "get the fuck out", clawing at my throat. Ghosts untying my laces, tripping me up, anything to make me stop? Not ghosts, angels. No, angels don't exist here. The trees are shrieking! Plants are unearthing their roots to pull at my boots, bugs throwing their lithe bodies against my eyelids. The earth gives a throaty moan, never speak in the jungle! Words sheathing themselves in my tongue like splinters, these word's aren't human! The water drips from the trees, and gasps as it lands upon my flesh. A thousand voices all at once! A warning, a message, a…!
-"Do it! Do it now!"-
"…!"
It was too late, the low guttural sound emitting from my throat, maybe his, or maybe the jungle itself, animalistic, and inhuman. His head was gone, cleaved wholly from his body. The thud of a collapsed body absent.
(Dramatic pause for emphasis.)
The thud of a footstep took its place, one step. The slight rise and fall of an upright, headless body, the only movement, in absolute slow motion. The jungle indistinct, it watched the macabre display with a pitied interest. Such a creature did not belong here.
Thud. Two steps, and the trees parted before him, in an absolute recoil. This could be nothing human, this was no longer a part of the Jungle.
Thud. Drip. Three steps, and the blood starts to fall, oozing. Or perhaps the Jungle is weeping for it's loss.
Thud. Drip. Four steps, and four men, completely awestruck, and a weeping jungle.
Thud. Five steps. If there was a drip, it was left unheard, lost in the echo of an absent heartbeat.
Thud. Six steps, and where's the head? This dreadful merging of realms, perhaps, swallowing it whole.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Nine steps, and the panic rises, this can't be true. The body sways, pulled back and forth beneath the milky-moon. Suspense, anticipation, and absolute uncertainty. Surely this body can't walk forever! Roaming earth for all eternity, held in the thrall of this lost world. Ghastly, and savage, just shoot the damn thing!
Thud.
Ten steps, and the body collapses, falling limply, allowing release. A world, silver, glowing, and wet, perhaps, we have been dragged into this purgatory. . Inhuman in a way wholly indescribable. I don't recall vomiting, yet the taste was there. This was far from over. This would become a story that would never end.
A world, all consuming, suffocating, and addicting. Moonlight, silver, virginal, and quite nearly blinding. A body, lost in the fray, damned to forever search.
And a lone head, lost. Eyes wide open, shiny with fear. Sweaty, moist, consumed. With a face half hidden by a glittering pattern of Jungle filigree.