I was walking with like four or five Afghanis. Waheedullah, Aqmhedzia, Sahim, Ali, and Jon. We were carrying something and Waheedullah was joking. I looked back and laughed. Uh, Wally let out a grunt and looked up. My face went still and I listened. The distinct sound of a rocket was coming into our ears rapidly. Then boom a bunker about 200 yrds away crumbled. The concrete making a grave for whoever was left inside. I looked back and the Afghanis are gone, and it's just me. I get in the bunker and wait. Fear builds and I don't want to die. In the darkness I look for god, but I don't think he is there, and even if he is I don't think he will intervine. I don't have my helmet, flak vest, or weapon, I feel naked sitting there exposed. My ears catch the boom in the distance and I get tense. I start to hear the piercing terrifying wooooooooo of the rocket as it is coming down on top of me. Suddenly the electronic noise of my alarmclock breaks in and I wake up. I hate dreaming about that shit. It's nothing really horrible and it's actually good to see some of the people I met but it always ends in rockets. It's been almost two years since I got back and I still have these god damn dreams. I hate war.

1 comment:

  1. Oh sweetie, I hope things get better! I remember when my pal came back from Iraq, the Army gave us all instructions on how to wake or not wake someone during night terrors. My friends Dad was in Vietnam and to this day still has horrible nightmares where he yells or screams while asleep. If the rest of the world only knew what it is like for you all, we would not so be so quick to say the old lie "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori" This is an old latin saying meaning "It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country"