Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“And you can’t teach a major to shut the fuck up before this half-breed roach slices his fuckin’ throat so we can all finally have a moment of silence. Ain’t nobody gonna miss you when you gone. I know what you did…”
That smile faded from his mug, and he finally turned to face me.
“Oh, you believe you’re a man now, huh? Fight me like a man then, and throw that knife away so I can mop the floor with your scrawny ass!”
He rose up quickly, the chair falling and causing me to stumble back, but I kept my footing and my eyes square on him. Spit sprayed out of his mouth and veins popped in his neck each time he ranted and raved, while my mouth turned to black cotton. Adrenaline fueled me in my time of need, as old tapes played back-to-back in my mind. Like a marathon of one’s most hated televised show.
He placed his hands against my chest and pushed me. I could feel all of his strength in that push, as well as all of his weakness.
He wasn’t as robust as he’d have liked me to believe. He’d told on himself. I didn’t have much weight on me, but I was strong as an ox. Tall and willowy, with a lifetime of hatred and resentment that fueled me each and every damn day. I looked into his eyes, and something broke inside of me. That last bit of string that tethered my sanity to my dangling shred of compassion for the human race had been sliced to pieces, the bits flying away into the wind, never to be seen again.
I let my knife slip from my hand to the floor, raised my right fist, and before he could touch me again, I punched that man in the face with all the force I could muster. Blood spurted from his nose like a spinning wheel doused with red paint. I kept on and on, and when he fell onto his back, landing partially on the back of the toppled chair, I kept on pummeling him as if he were meat that needed to be tenderized.
The overhead lights came on, and the screaming and yelling ensued. None of it mine. I feasted on the fear stamped on his face, and I smiled before spitting in his fucking eye.
I hope he can see me now. REALLY see me…
“BITCH!” I yelled as hands pulled at my arms and legs. All I could see was the red river he was drowning in, while I rose to the top. My smile turned into a grin as they struggled to stop me from finishing him off. I could almost taste it … the tears of his mama at his funeral. I became sticky with determination, resolute in finishing my mission. My last one as a soldier.
But at last, they managed to get me off him. While I was being hauled away from his broken and beaten body, I saw him twitch. I noticed the spasms. I cracked up laughing when someone called for medical assistance.
I remembered that night as though it was yesterday—the time I’d almost killed Major Greenwald. Early the morning of the incident, he’d gotten in my face, his finger less than an inch away from my nose, and said those words to me. The words that made me want to destroy him, and not look back. I warned him to back off, and he took me as a joke. His breath had smelled of strong coffee and cigarettes, and like he’d been sucking the shit out of an elephant’s ass through a straw. I hated his voice. His smile. That natural darkness in his eyes. It was unnerving. He had blue eyes, and yet, they were devoid of life. He had no soul. I even hated the way he walked: back super straight, arms dangling at his sides like some monkey.
I was dishonorably discharged, blackballed, and served time for assault on an Army officer. Not one of those days did I express regret or remorse. Not even in court. That lack of humility, as the judge called it, cost me a longer sentence, but little did they seem to understand, I wasn’t going to pretend to be sorry to get out of trouble faster. I wasn’t going to act like I didn’t hear what I heard. Said what I said. Saw what needed to be seen. These mothafuckas pressed your back against the snowy mountain, then when you yelled and fought back, they cried about how they saw you start an avalanche.
I did my time, and all prison did was make me harder. Colder. Bolder. I became a smarter criminal. I figured out new ways to make money. How to hustle. How to get over, and under. Mama said I ruined my Army career and that I fucked up everything I touched. She declared to anyone who’d listen that I was no good. She cried and cried, but never to try and understand me—she did it because of how she believed I made her look. She wanted a kid she could brag on. Someone who brought prestige into her life. This lady told me that I was a bad seed, and far too much to handle.