He blinks to focus, things are blurry
He can’t make out where he is
Sound is gone
The air is heavy and cloudy
His lungs struggle to catch a breathe
His eyes struggle to focus
Fog around him
He can’t make out what it is
His hands in front of his face
A psychedelic trip
He can’t feel his hands
He can hear his heart and nothing else
He can taste the air now.
Is he tripping?
What did he take?
This is almost numbing, he remembers nothing and has no worries.
A piercing ringing shoots into his head
Only in his left ear, the right still deaf
He can feel again, his body is aching
His vision clears
Dirty on his hands
A dusty fog of rocks and debris
He tastes the dirt
He can hear noises
The two hands coming crashing on his shoulders, and SNAP!
He turns around
“Are you okay?”
He remembers now
He starts checking himself
He gets up with the strangers help
Grabs his gear and they both sprint off
They find the nearest bunker for shelter
He’s in Iraq
The just got mortared
He got his ass laid out by the blast
The ringing still there but not as bad
The alarms are blaring, warning of the attack
He’s alive, not wounded
Just tossed around and bruised
Ego a bit hurt but living is more important
The stranger is an officer checking him out making sure he is good to go
He gives the thumbs up
Pulls out a pack of cigarettes and offers one the to officer
The officer passes on the offer, but signals him to go ahead
He lights up and waits for the all clear
Just another day
132 days and a wake up
Day#9 SJD
Segundo Juan Devora 