Share on Google Plus Share on Twitter Share on Facebook Share on LinkedIn Share on PInterest Share on Fark! Share on Reddit Share on StumbleUpon Tell A Friend 1 (1 Shares)  
Printer Friendly Page Save As Favorite View Favorites View Article Stats   No comments

Life Arts


By (about the author)     Permalink       (Page 1 of 1 pages)
Related Topic(s): ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; , Add Tags Add to My Group(s)

View Ratings | Rate It Headlined to H4 4/15/14

Become a Fan
  (13 fans)

Young Confederate soldier by The Last Door

"Daniel couldn't stop.   He could later on with difficulty.   Daniel struggled in school and was constantly in hot water.   As a first grader he hit his brother in the eye with a boiled shrimp taken from an all you can eat buffet.   He threw it so hard that his little brother couldn't see out of it for two days.   His Dad laughed and chided his Mom for "mollycoddling" the temporarily blinded little boy.

He was beautiful.   He was naturally athletic.   He was the kind of boy child that men loved for either their memories of what they were or could have been.   So, when he finally hit the wall, unable to find his way as an adult, everyone new that he would be a natural as a soldier.   He was in the first wave of American boys entering Baghdad.   

Daniel had been home from Iraq for eight years when his new girlfriend found him hanging against the garden wall of her townhouse.   He had tied a new, half-inch diameter nylon rope around his neck and then to a large eyebolt the he had screwed thru the oak flooring into a floor joist, opened the window and jumped.   

His father never believed in or understood PTSD.   He simply thought that anyone claiming it was either lazy or a coward.   His mother had outwardly become as macho as his father over the years, publicly telling her son to "buck-up" and "move on" but waking at night shaking uncontrollably and unexpectedly sobbing in the restroom at work.   

When they got the news of his death, she violently and repeatedly slapped her husband -- screaming out obscenities and the boy's name.   His father went out into his workshop and stared blankly straight ahead for hours at the walnut gun rack his son had made for him in junior high school, falling asleep on the floor, his body in a grotesque, tortured, surreal fetal heap.   The mother sat on the living room couch clutching a pair of the boy's tennis shoes, drinking vodka, passing out and losing control of her bowels..."

Kevin is (writing about yourself in the third person (illeism) is a trip) an artist/writer/carpenter and frustrated songwriter living in Johnson City, Texas. His latest frustrating songwriting attempt is titled, "I Touched the Hand That Touched the (more...)

Share on Google Plus Submit to Twitter Add this Page to Facebook! Share on LinkedIn Pin It! Add this Page to Fark! Submit to Reddit Submit to Stumble Upon

The views expressed in this article are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of this website or its editors.

Writers Guidelines

Contact Author Contact Editor View Authors' Articles

Most Popular Articles by this Author:     (View All Most Popular Articles by this Author)

Open Letter To Green Party Candidate Jill Stein

BECKWATCH: Ayn Rand Would Have Absolutely Hated Glenn Beck

BECKWATCH: On Rick Perry - An Homage To Molly Ivins

BECKWATCH: "Be Prepared: An Introduction to Food Storage"

Chick-fil-A: Building Communities of Idiots One Greasy Chicken Sandwich At A Time

Our Local Racist: A Note To Chris Hedges


The time limit for entering new comments on this article has expired.

This limit can be removed. Our paid membership program is designed to give you many benefits, such as removing this time limit. To learn more, please click here.

Comments: Expand   Shrink   Hide  
No comments