Another Jungle Story

“I won’t be home. There are at least three left. I won’t be home.”

“Don’t say that Mikey! Don’t quit on me!”

“I won’t be home.”
All I heard next was the static from Mikey’s walkie-talkie. I just didn’t know what to think. I had certainly lost my best friend. I stopped in mid-stride, and dropped to my knees.

“Mikey! Mikey!” I screamed,
“Answer me damnit!”

-Nothing but static.
I had to turn around. I wasn’t going to leave him with those animals. I looked over my shoulder into that jungle, that hell. I couldn’t believe I was about to go back into Satan’s paradise, but I couldn’t leave him with those savages. I let out a scream of anger, a violent battle cry, as I ran upon that jungle. It seemed every step I took I was taking three steps back.

Gun fire ripped through my surroundings, whizzing and whirling over my head. I just kept moving. The clearing, that I had last seen him, was within my sight. I just kept moving. I saw those tunnel rats creeping through the turf. All I could think of was ripping out each one of their hearts with my bare hands; assuming I could even find any.

I let out a yell of passionate, burning hatred as I pointed my death stick at those bastards, firing away. I knew I never had a chance, but that didn’t matter. If I could kill just one of those abominations, I was helping the better cause. Ammunition fell upon them like a blizzard of hellfire, cries of death reached my ears. But as one of them dropped, three took his place. I kept firing. Their death gave me life. Their pain gave me strenght. Each life I ended gave me the power to keep moving. I became the American Immortal. My gun no longer fired lead, but liberty and justice. My skin turned into steel, and my blood turned into hope. They never stood a chance, and they now realized that.
I charged into the flood of my enemy. The sea parted as I shot my gun. I felt like Moses, my gun as his staff, and God as our support. I raised my gun into the air, just as Moses did, and looked into the sky. I could not die. I was invincible. Bullets tore through me, I could not feel them. I was peppered, filled with holes, but yet, I was whole. I ran towards my prey, and but something caught my eye. My breathing stopped, my power was drained by this sight. My enemy, was a kid, a child among men. This boy was younger than my kid. He couldn’t have been sixteen. I feel to the ground, horrified.
How many children have I slaughtered? But, most importantly, for what reason? My head was spinning, I realized this was the end. The conclusion to this madness, but I was apart of it. I would soon join the other heros, at the tables of Valhalla. I would be honored, but why? Why should I sit, and dine with the greatest warriors, if I killed a child, for I was the American Child-slayer. And then, it was over...


Debits and credits… Debits and credits… Balancing ledgers… Debits and credits… It is amazing what a few short years in the army can do to a man. I lived a life of adventure and excitement, and now I am doing the most mundane job I could have come up with. Accounting. Not accounting for lives, saving some, or ending them, but accounting money, balancing debits and credits. I sit at my desk from 7:00 to 3:00, starting at ledgers. Not the legislation of God, acting as the Almighty, deciding the fate of my enemies, but the ledgers of paper, a spread sheet. The war sucked the life out of me, yet I still live, turning me from a killing machine into just a machine. Ironically, I guess thats just the balance. I have been figuring balances from as long as I can remember.