29 April 2012
I feel the piercing coils of metal whizz past my face. The adrenaline pumping through my body paralyses the world around me. I see the bullets spin through the air. The explosions sending burning debris shooting high into the sky.
My eyes snap open. I sit bolt upright, drenched in cold sweat. I pause to take in my surroundings. A cupboard. A grey cupboard. I use the technique my phycologist taught me. Stare at an object and describe it as much as possible. A tall, grey cupboard. A tall, grey, trouser filled cupboard.
It's getting better, my third adjective and I'm already anchored back into reality. I feel a cool, silken hand touch my muscled arm. I turn my sight to Jemma. I gaze at the beautiful chestnut-brown hair cascading over her perfect body.
I linger on the prospect of sleep, but I know it's pointless. The nightmares will just come back. I rise from the bed. Jemma always tells me I can move like a ghost. Not a whisper.
I trudge to my desk, hoping to express some of my emotions through my story. It's about two lovers, and one has to emigrate to Australia. But there's a happy ending. There's always a happy ending. Well, in stories.
My mind won't let me move my hand though. I just remember the war. The terror.
I sit there, still as a rock. I sit for hours and hours on end. I sit until the phone rings downstairs. I want to answer, but I can't see the point.
Jemma pushes the velveteen sheet away from her. She rises up and shakes her hair out. An angel.
She walks briskly across the room in her thin gown. She slows at my desk to give me a quick, but beautiful kiss.
I slowly awaken from my trance-like state. My vision sharpens just enough to see the purple material flitter down the stairs, like nervous butterflies.
I look back around the room, covered almost entirely with my stories and art. I paused my gaze at one of my illustrated romances. I must have stared at it for a long time. I do that sometimes, just glaze over. In the park, at Christmas. Anywhere, anytime.
I must have been staring for a long time because, when I awoke from my trance I saw Jemma standing in front of me. It takes me almost two seconds to register something's wrong. Tears are rolling across the contours of her face. She slowly thrusts something towards me, I look at her hand. She's giving me the phone.I take the black device from her outstretched hand. But instead of the spark I feel when we usually make contact is gone.
I put the phone up to my ear. "Yes", I choke,"Adam Brooklyn speaking"
"Adam Brooklyn", the military voice makes me fear the worst,"Your six month period in which to recover from your post-traumatic stress has expired. It is an honour to welcome you back into the armed forces"
Love And War - Chapter One • Opuss № I