SPC Kevin Walsh
It was the third night in a row without sleep. Delirium was beginning to set in. His vision was blurry and every step uncertain. Miller brought him breakfast. “Just stay in bed, man. You fucking need it.”
Afsoon pushed the tray aside and began to draw. She had found a handful of crayons somewhere and was drawing an image of a soldier’s headless corpse beside a dog beside a dog on its hind legs with a human head. He snatched the image up before she could finish coloring in the sun. Crumpling it in his hand, he pulled his lighter out of his pants pocket and walked outside, barefoot, wearing nothing but his boxers. He lit the corners of the drawing, tossed it into the barrel and stomped back into the barracks. Grabbing a handful of French toast, he plopped back down on the bed and stared at Afsoon.
She was already working on a new image of him with a rifle under his chin and a fountain of blood shooting out the top of his head.
He repeated his former action, grabbed the paper and walked out of the room.
When he returned from the burn barrel, Miller was standing there with Agdal behind him.
“We are taking you to go see Doc,” he said.
“You’re taking me?” Walsh replied, watching Afsoon drawing yet another picture in his room.
“You can either get dressed or we are taking you as you are, but you don’t have a choice. This is for your own good,” Miller said.
“I’ll get dressed,” he replied, walking into his room.
On his way out the room, he reached for his rifle, only to find it gone.
“Do you know where my rifle is?” Walsh asked nervously.
“I had Agdal grab it while you were out,” Miller replied, gravely serious.
They think I’m suicidal.
“It’s like that?”
“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t care.”
Walsh grunted in reply. Looking back into the room, Afsoon waved to him, a smile on her face.
I bet you are enjoying this, you little bitch.
The three of them walked down to the Aid Station set into the corner of the LZ, where they could easily load and unload casualties if they needed to be evacuated by air.
The aid station felt like a cave. The ceiling was angled off the cliff. The back wall was dirt with shelves built into it. Lights dangled from the reinforced ceiling that was covered with sandbags.
Doc Tucker was there with Doc Knightley and Doc Lopez.
“Is there any reason you can think of why you can’t sleep?” Tucker asked.
“Just stress. First deployment, you know,” Walsh replied.
“That doesn’t explain three days without sleep. I’m going to give you some sleep aids,” Tucker said. “Would you like to crash on one of our cots for a while, get you away from your platoon for a bit?”
Walsh looked over at the cot. Afsoon was sitting on it, her small feet dangling off the edge. “I’ll be fine. I appreciate it, Doc.”
I’m going to have to kill her.
“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call. Anytime. You can wake us up too,” Tucker said, handing him the small bag with instructions hand written on the outside and little pills inside.
Afsoon jumped off the cot and followed them out the door.
He spent the entire walk back up to the barracks thinking about wrapping his hands around her neck.
If she is a ghost, do I have to dispose of her body?
Will it dissolve?
Do I need a weapon?
“You are going to take a pill and get some sleep. If you need anything, we’ll get it for you,” Miller directed.
“I know you mean well, but I do hate being told what to do,” Walsh said.
“I don’t like it either,” Miller said, walking him to his room.
Afsoon ran into the room before him and climbed onto his bed. Piled up on his desk were more gruesome drawings.
Maybe I do need some sleep.
He popped a pill in his mouth and washed it down. Stripping down to his boxers, he piled his uniform haphazardly in the corner.
Afsoon watched him curiously from her seat on his bed, until he picked her up and set her down in front of the desk.
Draw your twisted fucking drawings. I don’t care.
Climbing into bed, he rested his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes.
A small hand grabbed his blanket and ripped it off of him.
He grabbed it and yanked it back. He rolled it tightly around his body. He turned his back to her.
She climbed onto the bed and put her mouth to his ear.
“I’m going to kill you if you scream in my fucking ear,” Walsh mumbled into his pillow.
“Aiyeee!”
He rolled back over to see her, eyes wide open, screaming at the top of her lungs. His hands reached out and wrapped around her throat. The first hand was more than enough to make her squeak and silence her scream. His second hand wrapped around her neck. He adjusted his hands until his thumbs were pressed into her small throat. Her neck was barely bigger than the width of his own thumb.
Her eyes opened wider and her small hands grabbed at his wrists.
Die, I don’t care. Fucking die!
She shook and clawed desperately for release.
Fucking die!
He pressed with all his might until her windpipe popped, and his thumbs dug deeper into her collapsed airway.
Her beautiful green eyes rolled up, fluttering, just at the top of her eye socket, and then dropping down. The tops of her pupils rested just above her bottom eyelid. He no longer felt the pressure of her small hands against his wrists. They flopped lazily to her sides and her head lolled backward. The screams stopped and her mouth hung open.
Pushing her back, Afsoon’s small body toppled off the edge of the bed and smacked onto the floor.
Walsh looked off the edge of the bed. Her crumpled form was contorted awkwardly onto itself, her head tucked under her body, her legs protruding in different directions, one arm jutting out toward the wall away from him.
Maybe I can get some sleep now.
He rolled back over. The room was quiet. For the first time in three days, it was quiet. A cloud rolled over his mind and dragged him to sleep.
Adam Fenner 