|main menu | youngsters categories | authors | new stories | search | links | settings | author tools|
|Days of the Weak (standard:humor, 1133 words)|
|Author: Greggo||Added: Feb 21 2003||Views/Reads: 1768/1096||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
Day three: I dreamt last night for the first time since birth it seems. I was alone in this dream which isn't too shocking as I am always alone. I'm dressed in solitude as well as dressed in a camouflage uniform, not a real one, but one that might have been hastily concocted by a rushed, drunken father on the eve of Halloween. My face is recklessly smeared with forest-green and black but I'm not in combat. I am in the center of a rush-hour freeway surrounded by passenger-less vehicles speeding towards their empty destinations. I began running. Like there was no tomorrow I ran, only in this dream there was no tomorrow. I sensed it. Footsteps crashed and echoed behind me; towards me. I felt unstoppable. I heard shouting from all around me but by now I was too afraid to stop. I heard these voices in every which language. Some that I'm certain that I've never even heard before yet I somehow understood. In German, then French, Greek, Russian, even a Bronx accented English. I heard Japanese and Spanish all yelling the same thing: We Want You! Back and forth, in Afrikaans this time: We Want You! I accelerated up the next off-ramp. Sweating and yearning to quit running yet inexplicably propelling myself further. Finally I reached the peak of the incline and there I was staring off the roof of my apartment building. Eight stories up overlooking the city-scape with barely an oxygen atom in my lungs. I was teetering on the verge of falling forward and collapsing back. So I did what any normal American citizen would do in this precarious position: I woke up. Three extra-strength Tylenol and two beer later, my head still pounds. What the hell did I do last night? I am almost positive that I didn't lose my seed and “daddy” myself last night since I woke up totally alone. But I guess you never know. I do remember dancing and then drinking. Oh now it's coming back to me, I also remember drinking and then dancing. Man oh man, whatta mess I am. You know when you get insanely tipsy (if there is such a thing) and you begin to think that you might just be the perfect catch out there on the dance floor. I was dancing with anything and everything; I think I even grinded with a transvestite now that I think about it. She/he had the nicest ass but it's facial stubble left a little to the imagination. For about an hour I shook my bootie with a fabulous little filly with a lollipop shrouded shirt and the invitation “buck-a-lick?”. It wasn't until after I gave her a five and stuck out my tongue that I realized ( well actually somebody realized for me) that she was trying to enjoy her stag-ette without the interference of this soon-to-be private. It turns out that she has a solidly built bridesmaid that didn't appreciate my subtle five-dollar advances nor my bum-lovin' lefthand. But I recovered well and did the next best thing, I ordered a round of drinks for those lovely ladies and ran away from that side of the dance floor. I vaguely recall standing on somebody's table and belting out the Star-Spangled Banner while saluting towards a tiny old beer-stein, dustily pinned above the bar, with a scratched and faded American flag on it. I then remember tearing up as my eyes welled with pride. That is my last memory. Hmm, I hope I didn't embarrass myself. I kind of hope that the recruiting office doesn't call me today. I am definitely in no condition to move, let alone answer questions. Maybe I am not military muster. I somehow remember, while singing on the table, that nobody joined in. They seemed too unimpressed about the whole ordeal considering that we're on the verge of a war. Why aren't there any wartime rallies instead of anti-war protests. Come on people, we're doing the world a favor, aren't we??? I just wonder what it would be like pulling into a silent port with barely a newspaper mention of our tour of duty fighting for democracy. Do I really have to be ashamed to wear my uniform to a church function like soldiers used to? Do I really have to wait for a world war three to be welcomed as an officer in my own country? I sure as hell hope not! Dammit I'm am still on my way to becoming a great leader, a historical wartime figure up there with the ranks of General Douggie MacArthur. Oh gawd, just a sec, I totally got the squats now! I'm back. The bathroom smells like a trench now but at least I'm a survivor. It got rough in there for a while but I pulled through. I deserve the medal of honour for that entanglement. I don't remember eating anything green but I won't argue with the toilet water. Anyway, I feel sixty percent like death, thirty percent hit-by-a-bus, and ten percent craving a hotdog. I hate math! Today might just be a waste day; that's okay since by the time you hit my age, you're used to them. A Click here to read the rest of this story (25 more lines)
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Greggo has 6 active stories on this site.
Profile for Greggo, incl. all stories
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.