B. Journey to Oblivion
“Whoever tries to keep their life will lose it, and whoever lose their life will preserve it.”
“Where is it? Where is my freedom? Where is my way out of this?”
Marcus, frantically searches for anything resembling military paraphernalia, hoping it will be easier to hide his intentions if he looks like someone’s enemy. This is the fastest he’s moved in a while. He looks in the drawer for the pistol; it’s an older model, but it will do. He loads it with blanks. He’d never intended to use it on anyone, merely to protect his house. Death seems to make Marcus eager for life. After he places the gun in his hand-me-down holster he puts on his boots. The idea of war-assisted suicide drives Marcus to gain courage hidden in the depths of his heart. His footsteps are faster and smoother. He eats his last meal. While enjoying every bite of leftovers, he watches his favorite YouTube videos.
Before he switches from YouTube to the television, he gets the idea to write a final letter to his family. As he tries to articulate love, he is vexed over how to avoid his intentions seeping through. The lightness of no longer worrying about people’s thoughts creeps in but still he needs to leave his family on good terms. He can feel the hypothetical shame of his mother’s tears were she to catch even a hint of self-demise. And he can feel the weight of his older brother’s discerning look if he senses the faintest whiff of suicide.
So he writes with love and trepidation.
After reading through the letter a second time, he seals it and leaves it on the bed. He has some sort of faith in the current collapsing world that leaving a letter on a bed will somehow get it delivered. He engages in a moment of reflection, then, like an athlete before a big game, he mentally prepares to follow through with his plan.
Taking the finishing sip of an energy drink, he grabs his keys—only to be stopped by an all-too-familiar knocking at the door. It’s Pat. When he answers the door this time he looks down at Pat with increased frustration. She will not take this moment away from me, He thinks to himself.
When she looks at him meekly, she asks, “Have you seen Courtney?”
Marcus looks intensely with little concern, “No, she’s an elusive one, isn’t she?”
He grabs his gun from the hostler and cocks it, brushing past Pat only to have her grab his arm and attempt to re-establish their abuser-victim relationship. Marcus turns around with intensity in his eyes, determined to break the chain of shame.
Snatching his arm back he finally stands up to Pat. “I’ve had enough of your words and hurt. You may be able to fool Courtney and you’ve been able to oppress me with my insecurities. But today it ends. I am no longer a part of your cycle. No more.”
Pat is taken off guard. Realizing for the first time in months that she has been speaking down to a 6’3’’ black man. In this moment they switch heights, she has been 6’3’’ and he has been 5’7’’. Now, he has regained his height. When planes fly over he runs toward town and the sound of gunshots. Pat is left frozen in her cycle, broken.
As he runs away he pauses around fifty yards away. “Hey Pat,” He yells and she turns just her head in his direction, frozen from the shoulders down. He launches both his middle fingers up with a smile. Initially, he wanted to drive, but in running through the bushes and patches of desert he is getting full use of his energy drink. The heat of the sun is not even a factor as Marcus moves faster and faster towards his goal.
Once he reaches the neighborhood grocery store, he finds a gunfight taking place. The rebel forces have their modified riot shields while the U.S. Army shoots back, hiding behind vehicles. The rebels move from left to right. Marcus smiles at the scene. The bushes he hides behind don’t do a great job concealing him, yet the two forces are too focused on each other to bother with him. He’s happy but unsure how to involve himself in the conflict. After he thinks over it for a few minutes he prepares to simply run out. But right as he’s about make the first step he’s snatched from his moment of self-demise by a marine. Before he can understand what is being stolen from him, he’s in the back of a truck full of refugees as it heads in the opposite direction of the conflict. Marcus begins to cry, realizing he has just been robbed. His freedom from failure flees him again.
His tears are met with a familiar voice, “Marcus...”
Marcus turns, seeing the ghost of his past and present: Courtney. She, like many others, was found by the marines and is being transported to safety. She reaches out for a moment of comfort but he swipes his arm away before her soft touch can stain his reflective moment. He swipes his tears away and stares at her with compounded rage. Even though she is hurt in a warzone, he doesn’t wish to be there for her. Marcus doesn’t care, he can only see her as the one with the gun and she has been pulling the trigger over and over again for the past two months. Moments after a shame-drenched Courtney attempts to touch Marcus again an explosion surprises the right side of the truck and it falls on its side. People—civilians—already in pain are once more colliding with the reality of war, with definition of collateral damage. The people inside are flung to the ground on the left side of the truck. The convoy has been ambushed by rebel forces.
After embracing a concussion and attacked by the ringing deafness of an explosion, Marcus looks out the back of the truck. He slowly regains his awareness while seeing the shields advancing on their position.
My moment is near, He thinks.
Within this miracle of being alive Marcus seizes the opportunity to destroy it. He tries to crawl toward the shields as they advance. Marines try to form a perimeter around the truck but are shot down instantly. Still he crawls toward death at the expense of the pain of others around him. Crawling over a dead woman, he then lifts himself using a person who has two broken arms. Someone whispers “help” to him, but only his ears hear it, not his heart. He is focused solely on the legion of assisted suicide heading for him. Reaching the pavement he rises to his feet and gazes face to face with the shields and helmets of the rebels. And in the moment of gaining his physical balance he loses his mental balance and tries to shoot the rebels.
“Take that! Die! Die! Die—you’ll never take me alive!”
One of the rebel soldiers returns fire and Marcus is shot in the shoulder and falls. He still screams facades of valor, shooting shields and enemies alike. The rebels look at him. They surround him with shields up. They don’t fire again, only stare. A commander radios in, “General we have a code 5-9-7 . What are your orders?”
“Wait, I’m almost there.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Marcus runs out of blanks he tries to fight in hand-to-hand combat. He is shoved off shields and pushed back into the middle of the street. They close the circle around him.
Marcus can hear a vehicle pull up and some of the soldiers turn their heads. He tries to press his luck, thinking the pause and head turns are his chance—but he quickly realizes it’s not. Marcus grunts, trying to exert more force in order for it to be returned . Yet the shields remain solid before one part opens, revealing the General of Masochism , General Donatus Fletcher Attilus.
The infamous general stands in full battle armor and helmet, and the sight stuns Marcus. For a moment he is in awe. But the moment passes quickly when his purpose-driven ego provokes him to charge the general. When he does so, the general’s stern, coarse voice gives a command to stand down as he manages to dodge all Marcus’ punches and kicks. Marcus is angry but untrained.
His futile attempts at fighting come to an end when General Attilus tases him and he collapses into a state of unconsciousness.
Opmerkingen