The Barrel by: Zuri Love, Inkjet archival photograph, 2013.
Darkness
by: Nicole Holloway
The darkness descends
I am there again, crunching brush beneath my feet
Unable to escape
Heat and gear oppressive in their weight
Shrouded in a quiet so absolute
My mind fills the silence
I rub the barrel of my gun
Finding comfort from the cool metal
Gunfire pecks at the quiet night,
A helicopter’s methodic hum
It’s coming.
The closed fist signals, we wait.
The private next to me says a prayer
I know we are alone
I wait to kill, to die
I think of my mother and hold my gun tighter, ready
“Daddy, daddy” echoes in my ears,
My finger caresses the trigger,
Eyes snap open
Where am I?
How did I get here?
Her face glowing in the sunlight streaming through the windows
Quickly releasing my finger
Remembering I left the jungle thirteen years ago
She doesn’t know me
I mask the terror that fuels the need for death, my own
In the light of day, I smile, I play, even laugh
The darkness knows who I am and what I have done
Executed fathers, brother. Sons.
It’s there, with shame and fear, I search for peace
Living the nightmare
Holds less fear than the continual reliving of it
Coffee, eggs, mow the grass
Kiss my wife, disappoint my sons.
Ignore the daughter who was so eager for me to wake up
Drink, clean my gun, drink. Anything to distract me in the daylight.
Watch the sun lower, tick
Slowly place each bullet in the magazine, tock
I roll out the sleeping bag
Near the front door, I cuddle my gun to confront the night