Ode To Joy
I sat there alone in my room with a letter held in my hands that are trembling like it was about to fall off. I wipe the cold sweat that precipitated on my forehead, trying to ignore the freezing cold blood that runs through my veins, I prepared myself for the obvious message
"I cannot take it anymore. Everyday and every night, you do nothing but destroy things and be angry at everything for no apparent reason. Im tired of this shit! Im leaving you and im taking the kids with me for I cannot trust you with your current condition. Please understand, I am only doing what is best for everyone, you need space. Till you managed to control yourself and act decent infront of the kids, consider our relationship done."
With those words, my heart was torn. As I tear the paper to pieces, I know that sorrow was born. I had enough of this miserable life and I kicked the table with a yell, blasting all of the glasswares above it into shards that flew into the walls. Growling like a savaged beast I was. I picked up the wooden chair that I was sitting on and smashed it towards the thing that used to be my cabinet. Followed by a swift white line that crossed the tip of my eyes. A small shard of glass was flung into my cheek, ripping apart a wound that may not be deep but still frighteningly long. The flow of a warm vermillion that dripped down to the floor falling into nothingness was the thing that brought me back to reality. It was a surprise that I could still feel pain after what I had done.
Down on my shaking knees I fell and buried my face into my palm and started to weep, letting it all flow. It has been 20 long years since that day yet up until now the canzone of the death zone was still being played by the demons of my mind. I was a veteran soldier of the Vietnam war. It was my choice to die in battle or live telling tales about it but what happened to me? My life was ruined because of that choice!.
The symphony of everything that happened on those days was as fresh as if time never ticked a second after I left it to haunt me. At my young age of 19, I volunteered to die amongst my fellow citizens. I was trained to hate, to be mean, to be strong and strong I became. Then it happened, the smoke, dust, fire, noises. It was a suffocating haze of screams that are lost within the thickness of explosions that sends pieces of limbs into the air and bullets that buzzes and bruises every random part of my body. Casualties was much for both sides. I handled both the living, the dead and those who were better off dead.
I managed to lived through an everyday of seeing my friends being killed right in front of me, holding them as their last breath failed to be, yet deep inside I know that I was already amongst the clouds. My very personality died in the tapestry of nightmares. For I managed to live, I was consumed by hatred, those Vietnamists, they all doesn't deserved to live at all. They are all but animals, ruthless animals whos only language was to let heads roll on the ground equivalent to our childs play.
After the war settled down, I took that anger with me back to Dallas. I tried to renew my life and forget about my past but I failed in all sides. I cannot get along with people, I passed on from one job to another for they cannot accept someone who bursts into berserk at random intervals. My parents kept their distances away from me and now, my own family decided to leave me behind. Perhaps this is a divine punishment, yes, it certainly is. I was being punished for after a year of killing too many sons and fathers, and widowed too many mothers, I actually tried to think that I still deserve to be accepted by the community or even to be deserving to have my own family.
Tired of trying, sick of crying, falsely smiling, deep inside im dying. I just wanted to be freed, is that so bad?
…
Abandoned and discarded, I was all alone in the dining room, eating a dinner sluggishly without even caring about anything. I was only disturbed when the doorbell rang. I almost yelled at it for I am not in the mood for any company, even from the mailman, afterall, who would want to be friends with a murderer anyway? But when I opened it, it was my own mother who was waiting for me at the door.
I politely let her in (I already cleaned up my mess) and asked her if she has eaten yet but she was not interested in it. Rather, she handed me a one dusty and ragged old box. I was surprised when I opened it and laid my eyes upon my old war trophies and badges. Small metallic decorations that I used to worship until I realized today that it comes with a price- the price of losing your own humanity. But what really horrified me was when I saw a small notebook, a little diary from someone named "Nguyen van Nghia" whom I presumed I killed was hidden for more than 2 decades. I opened it and started to read. It was written in the language of my enemies but I can understand it:
"'Forget about everyting. Calm yourself. Listen to the world speak. Love bears no grudge"
I cannot believe what I was reading! It was written by an enemy, someone I was trained to shamelessly slaughter. All this time, I was not listening to the nocturne of the devils, I was the one singing it! For too long I called them animals yet it was it was I who was dancing the waltz with phantoms as my companions. They all loomed over my head, feeding on the sorrow from which they bred.
A flare of determination sparkled in my eyes. No longer shall I shamefully crawl, I will bring an end to it once and for all! As illusionary as the moon on the water's surface, I know the path to redemption could be my last but I am determined to forgive myself for what I had done. I had to find the family of this innocent man and let redemption take its toll.
…
Using all my sources, I spent all my time looking for information, every single hint of the whereabouts of Nguyen van's family. Ive been through the files about the casualties of , been searching far and wide asking fellow retired soldiers and commanders about what they know. Every little fragment of information was clutched so tightly as if it was my only treasure. Which it is.
People started to look at me with different eyes, they know that I am up to something and it is something so good that is starting to change me back to being a human once again. I managed to get my family back and a job that lasted more than a year and still going as well as more friends that trusted my company. They all think that those days in solitude was the one responsible for bringing me back. They believe that the good old "Paul Reed" who never ceases to wear a smile everytime he walks down the road to catch up the school bus was back. They were wrong, at least not yet .
I already had everything I lost but I still didn't abandoned my quest. I still seek for more, I starve for forgiveness, from both the family and from my inner self. Until when I stumbled upon a documentarist named "Steve Smith" from Seattle. He was a good man and we easily became accustomed to each other. And when I told him about my hunt, he was reluctant to help me. And by help, I don't mean simple companion on the road, by help, I meant CBS themselves! A well respected channel for award winning documentaries
Needless to say, after a month of waiting, he went to see me about some news that is far more than I can chew: "There are some curve balls that we discovered. And one of those is the fact that Nguyen van Nghia is alive"
…
I feel like I was living in a fairytale. I feel like the heroine of the story in the fairytale about an artist who went to travel the world to seek the perfect rhytm of his masterpiece. Only to went back home broken hearted. Until when he finally reached his own motherland did he realized its beauty. Only difference is that I am back to the place where it all started and I returned to put an end to it.
With only Steve by my side, we took a day long flight to N. Vietnam to find the man I sinned against to. Steve was obviously excited for he has high hopes for an Emmy but that composure changed when we reached the land that was stained by an unending foolishness- mostly on our part though. Here and there, every single Vietnamist stared at us not with curiosity but with disdain that was well mixed with fear. It was no longer needed to warn Steve to be very wary about people who might be just waiting for us to lose our guard. That logic didn't applied to me though, I have committed a crime. I deserve how they will treat me.
A day later, we rode a jeep that drove in a rode that barely exists for its not made from concrete. For more than 5 hours straight, we lost and asked directions multiple times before we reached the tipped location. A cute little farm village with hectares of well groomed rice paddies but only a farm houses and barns in sight..
"Is something wrong, buddy?" Steve apparently saw my face that is painted inside out with an overflowing dose of horror. My face was drained out of color and my feet kept on shaking as if we are having an earthquake at a magnitude of 10.
"I don't know," I started to confess "Im terrified of Mr. Ngia, I don't know what he suffered because of me" Those words were special codes that relieved a lump in my throat but still not enough. The only response I received from him was a single heavy tap on the shoulder and that was all.
As I trod down the sandy dunes of the highway and paying no heed at the scorching sun right above me, my very thoughts was locked tightly in my grimace. My very self started to question my decision of going back to the breeding ground of horrors. Visions of my friends that was slaughtered with their intestines hanging out and their skulls cracked open came to my mind once again. The ballad of the ever flaming retribution is what I was about to face. Can he forgive and forget if it meant that justice is something he wont get? Is he worthy of my forgiveness if he killed my friends nevertheless?
Amidst my life that was full of lies, who will I see in the reflection of his eyes?
Steve stopped in front of a house that was barely stappeled by four corners of scrap materials that you can easily find in any dump site. He is probably working as a laborer considering the fact that I cannot see any tractors so this place must still be rellying in man power. So this is where he live, huh? After years of being in combat, I cant help but feel pity for the soul that was treated like disposable materials.
My legs trembled onced again when Steve forced me to do the knocking. I wanted to run away again, Fear was creeping in once again. I don't wanna do this. Then all of a sudden, it hit me. And realized, this is exactly what I was fighting for! I was running away from my past all this time! I was a soldier that was trained to act like machine, to kill without remorse but no matter how many times I deny it, my heart still beats. It was my emotions that was bottled up for a long time that drove me out of this realm.
I will not let that guilt decide who I will be!
Out of nowhere, the courage that I never seen before flooded my very being and with pride, I gently pushed opened the door to end my tale with a smile. There he was, peering out of his window to watch the eternal blue sky inside his empty sanctuary that was illuminated only by the sun. His skin was full of battle scars and tells the tale of the harsh life in the farm. As he slowly turned his gaze to his visitors, I saw the thick white clouds in his right eye that was blinded through battle . But nothing in this world had ever managed to paralleled with the intoxicating reminiscent smile that he painted into his face as he greeted us in a soothing hum.
"Chào mừng anh em" he said, which means Welcome Brothers
FIN
Authors Note:
"Ode To Joy" is a classical music that really suits this story if you will play it at the right moment. Also, it makes a fine Christmas Carol. And its violin/piano version can lay waste to your favorite noise that was made by a cleverly disguised 51 year old pedophile
This story was greatly inspired from the true story of a true Vietnam war veteran named "Paul Reeds".
Now, you must be complaining, what happened next? I have no intention of continuing it because It was already 2260 words which already exceeded the max limit of 2000 words. Also, open endings are really awesome if you will only pay attention to the power of imagination. No really, Its simply because that the rest of the story is soooooo manly that I as an author feel like my testerone level was violated to divine level just by thinking about it. It was so damn manly that describing that scene again will cause people to sacrifice babies (And that's still just an underestimation)
But if you really want to know it: Just search for "Paul Reeds Vietnam veteran"