Nothing could make the pain go away. Hector had tried everything. Asked everyone. Neurologists, orthopedic surgeons, immunologists, chiropractors, acupuncturists, homeopaths, crystal healers, and anyone else, quack or not, who said they could help him. None of them had. Hell, they couldn’t agree on what was wrong with him.
He’d heard “fibromyalgia” and “phantom pain” from the real doctors. They’d told him it was all in his head. One guy had even accused him of faking his symptoms to get drugs.
The chiropractor had called it a “misalignment of the spine” and proceeded to give him what amounted to a two hour back massage. Hector’s back felt better than it had in ages, but the pain hadn’t gone away.
The acupuncturist had told him he had something wrong with his chi and spent quite a while poking him with needles. Hector’s chi no doubt was much improved, but his muscles still screamed at him every time he moved.
The homeopath had told him he had “rheumatism” and given him a "tonic" that tasted like water and did nothing for the pain. He stopped taking it when he found out the active ingredient was “diluted arsenic.”
The crystal healer had been the most dubious of the bunch. A burnt out old hippie with unkempt hair and a habit of staring into space, she’d said he had too much “negative energy” in him and spent an hour waving a piece of polished quartz in his general direction. He bolted when she tried to sell him the $3,000 home crystal kit.
Now Hector was trying magnets. The man was small and unassuming. He wore an old fashioned bowler hat and carried a cane (apparently magnets couldn’t heal everything). He was an older man – late fifties Hector thought, and he had one of those accents immigrants get when they’ve lived in the US long enough to know how to speak perfect English, but choose not to. His name sounded like “Valdemar” but he spelled it with a “W.” Waldemar. Hector thought he might be Polish. “You have problem with pain, yes?” Waldemar asked.
“Yes? Uh, yes,” Hector stammered.
“Where you feeling pain? Back, maybe?”
“Yeah, in my back, and my chest and legs. Everywhere really.”
“You’ve asked nerve doctor, yes?” Waldemar seemed concerned.
“Yeah, he said it was all in my head”
“Good, good. Real doctor not work, so we try magnets.”
“Wait, you’re not “real?”
The little man gave him a concerned look, “Not doctor. Just man with magnets. So, we try magnets.”
Waldemar spent an hour waving various magnets at Hector and running them up and down his spine. Afterwards, Hector didn’t feel any better, and he said so.
“Of course not, I not doctor, just man with magnets. Magnets not work on everyone. Placebo effect, yes? Stop seeing quacks like me and go find real doctor. Here’s card of neurologist. Tell him you were desperate enough to try man with magnets. He’ll listen.”
“Uh, thanks,” Hector said taking the card. With some trepidation, he decided he’d give modern medicine a second chance. If that didn’t work, there was always aromatherapy.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Hell
I lay dead in the jungle, surrounded by a pool of blood. Then, the blood started to seep back into my bullet wounds and I was alive. My buddies were all around me looking worried and I wanted to speak to them, but I was too weak. Suddenly I coughed, and the blood that was on my face flew into my mouth and down my throat. Wait, that wasn’t right. Sharky, the medic, was holding me and he looked frightened, but he put on a brave face and said, “!em ot klat ,no emoC !snikneJ em htiw yatS !snikneJ.” I had no idea what he had said, but suddenly he was running away, backwards. They all were! Where were they going? Why would they leave me there?
One of my buddies stopped and leveled his rifle at a dead bogie in front of me and the bogie must not have been quite dead, because suddenly he was on his feet without even seeming to stand up. I saw a flash from my buddy’s rifle, but instead of shooting the enemy dead, the gun sucked the bullets back out of him, and I watched as he healed right in front of my eyes. That’s not what was supposed to happen. Then the bogie turned his gun on me.
I felt a hot wet trickle across me chest as the last of my blood surged back into my body. Behind me, someone called “!snikneJ” and suddenly I flew to my feet. I was looking down in horror when bullets flew out of my chest and into my enemy’s flashing muzzle. I don’t know how, but I was healed. No wounds. No tears. Nothing. The bogie must have gotten freaked out by that, because he ran off backwards into the bush.
At this point, I knew something was fucked around me, but no one else seemed to care. They just stood out in the clearing passing the canteen around. Sawyer was taking a leak. They were smiling, laughing, chatting, but nothing they said made sense. It was all warped… backwards. Memories flashed back to me. This is what we’d been doing before the attack. Before I got shot. Before I… died.
Things were flashing back faster than they’d gone forward. Whole days passed by in a blur. Patrolling the bush, scrapes, mosquitoes, endless slogs through the mud and bramble, gunfire at night, fleeting glimpses of the enemy during the day, it all zoomed by like a passing breeze. I stood in a burning village, hands covered in soot, face stained by tears. I saw my friends slaughter emaciated peasants armed with machetes or ancient rifles. Then, blur again. Walking, trudging from village to village, looking for weapons, looking for people who didn’t belong, never staying too long in one place. Then I was in the one place where we made the mistake of lingering. I felt the dirt on my hands as we dumped a young girl into a shallow grave. I saw what we did to our “brothers” who raped her to death. Then the blur again, towns, bases, whores on the street, artillery shells falling in the distance, getting off the boat, then, nothing. Blackness, emptiness.
So now I sit and stare into the darkness, wondering where the rest of my life went. My family, my friends. Why can’t I remember them? They must be out there, but then, maybe they aren’t. Maybe I am a child of war and strife, no friends but my brothers, no love but love for battle, no lust but bloodlust. Wait, white text… “Please be kind, please rewind?” Huh? Where am I? When am I? Who am I? What was I talking about? Where..wha…
Uh, I guess I must have zoned out for a bit, they told me I’d get jittery at first. It’s probably this stupid boat making me seasick. Yeah, that’s it. Nothing to be nervous about, I’m part of the baddest band of brothers that ever lived, and we’re going to teach those little bastards why you don’t mess with the United States of Fucking A. Ooh-RA! Now why does it feel like I’m forgetting something important?
One of my buddies stopped and leveled his rifle at a dead bogie in front of me and the bogie must not have been quite dead, because suddenly he was on his feet without even seeming to stand up. I saw a flash from my buddy’s rifle, but instead of shooting the enemy dead, the gun sucked the bullets back out of him, and I watched as he healed right in front of my eyes. That’s not what was supposed to happen. Then the bogie turned his gun on me.
I felt a hot wet trickle across me chest as the last of my blood surged back into my body. Behind me, someone called “!snikneJ” and suddenly I flew to my feet. I was looking down in horror when bullets flew out of my chest and into my enemy’s flashing muzzle. I don’t know how, but I was healed. No wounds. No tears. Nothing. The bogie must have gotten freaked out by that, because he ran off backwards into the bush.
At this point, I knew something was fucked around me, but no one else seemed to care. They just stood out in the clearing passing the canteen around. Sawyer was taking a leak. They were smiling, laughing, chatting, but nothing they said made sense. It was all warped… backwards. Memories flashed back to me. This is what we’d been doing before the attack. Before I got shot. Before I… died.
Things were flashing back faster than they’d gone forward. Whole days passed by in a blur. Patrolling the bush, scrapes, mosquitoes, endless slogs through the mud and bramble, gunfire at night, fleeting glimpses of the enemy during the day, it all zoomed by like a passing breeze. I stood in a burning village, hands covered in soot, face stained by tears. I saw my friends slaughter emaciated peasants armed with machetes or ancient rifles. Then, blur again. Walking, trudging from village to village, looking for weapons, looking for people who didn’t belong, never staying too long in one place. Then I was in the one place where we made the mistake of lingering. I felt the dirt on my hands as we dumped a young girl into a shallow grave. I saw what we did to our “brothers” who raped her to death. Then the blur again, towns, bases, whores on the street, artillery shells falling in the distance, getting off the boat, then, nothing. Blackness, emptiness.
So now I sit and stare into the darkness, wondering where the rest of my life went. My family, my friends. Why can’t I remember them? They must be out there, but then, maybe they aren’t. Maybe I am a child of war and strife, no friends but my brothers, no love but love for battle, no lust but bloodlust. Wait, white text… “Please be kind, please rewind?” Huh? Where am I? When am I? Who am I? What was I talking about? Where..wha…
Uh, I guess I must have zoned out for a bit, they told me I’d get jittery at first. It’s probably this stupid boat making me seasick. Yeah, that’s it. Nothing to be nervous about, I’m part of the baddest band of brothers that ever lived, and we’re going to teach those little bastards why you don’t mess with the United States of Fucking A. Ooh-RA! Now why does it feel like I’m forgetting something important?
Progress
We’ll go in jetpacks and flying cars,
and sleek ships that surf the stars,
while below us the Earth will stink,
with urban grime,
and senseless crime.
And through it all we’ll think:
“how lucky we are,
to have ever made it so far.”
We’ll swim in oceans of the mind,
and restore vision to the blind
while around us people will die,
from the mislaid plan,
of their fellow man.
But will we stop to wonder why?
Or will we just look sad
and say, “gee, that’s too bad.”
We’ll take our daily food pills,
and teach our robots handy skills,
while above us the sky turns gray,
with all the speed,
of corporate greed.
Then what will there be left to say?
“Ignore this world, look to the stars,
when Earth is dead, there’s always Mars.”
and sleek ships that surf the stars,
while below us the Earth will stink,
with urban grime,
and senseless crime.
And through it all we’ll think:
“how lucky we are,
to have ever made it so far.”
We’ll swim in oceans of the mind,
and restore vision to the blind
while around us people will die,
from the mislaid plan,
of their fellow man.
But will we stop to wonder why?
Or will we just look sad
and say, “gee, that’s too bad.”
We’ll take our daily food pills,
and teach our robots handy skills,
while above us the sky turns gray,
with all the speed,
of corporate greed.
Then what will there be left to say?
“Ignore this world, look to the stars,
when Earth is dead, there’s always Mars.”
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