I am made of disappointment

Flesh and bone and aching

I am made from agony

Pain in every angle

I am made from tragedy

Shaping me bent and crooked

I am made from hunger

From fear in the night

From suffering

Suspicion, anger, self loathing,

But what you are made from does not make you

The same thing that makes pencil lead also makes a diamond.

I am strong

I am bright

I am wanted

I am loving

I am loved

I am kind

I am capable

I am a pessimist with a good heart

I am not broken

Even if I am crooked

They told us it was the honor system. We were held up to the standard in which everyone else was, and that no one would be watching. The test would be administered in the room, without supervision. There were only two positions available and about a dozen of us in there.

I sat upright in my chair, honor pumping through my veins, as they passed the test to each applicant. Once each of us had it, they proctor left and the key was left on the front desk. The slid closed, almost too silently, and the test began. Two pages of questions, each with five potential answers under it.

The whispers began in the back corner, between two the two them. Quickly. they stood up and went to the front of the room. They copied the answers, and sat back down.

Another pair went and came back.

Again.

Again.

Again.

At the end of the time period, only I was left. We all sat in the hushed room. The door slid open and the proctor gathered the exams. He sat down at the desk and corrected each test with a thin tipped red pen.

"You, you may leave. Thank you." His finger dropped from my direction back to the desk. I stood up, and walked out the too silent door. The elevator at the end of the hall seemed a thousand times farther than it did when I arrived. I failed? I was such a bad applicant that I was the only dismissed? I guess that's how the cookie crumbled this time. The elevator dinged and the doors rolled open.

"Yeesh, tough break man, you were the only one dismissed." A sharply dressed man smirked at my failure. My backbone remained rigid with the thought of following the orders exactly. "Yeah, I guess I wasn't cut out to be what they were looking for." The man laughed and tugged on his ear. "Lemme guess, you were the only one that didn't look at the key? Right?" I turn my head and meet his gaze. "I followed the order to not look, it was on the honor system. I wouldn't have looked even if they pointed a gun a my head." He laughed heartily. "Really? That's really respectable. I really admire that in someone." I nod and wait for the elevator to stop.

Ding. I walked out of the elevator and looking through the lobby to the street front of the building. Before the door shuts, the man hollers out. "Hey, good luck finding a warm meal tonight. Men like you aren't built for the private sector. Why don't you go crawl back into a foxhole!"

His life has been nothing but sadness. The loss of his mother, never knowing his father. A constant battle to live on just enough food. A solitary life for nearly 15 years.

Yet, in the darkness, there is light.

Ten years later, he stands tall. He stands in glory and honor of service to his country. The shadows that haunted him in his youth have now been shackled and exiled from his presence. The salty sea wind kisses his brow, as his vessel smashes through another wave. For no apparent reason, he has become more than any person before him in his lineage could even imagine.

Three year old me, in command of a squad of seasoned army men. A minesweeper, binoculars guy, two riflemen, and a bazooka man. The mission: scout out the innards of the VCR and rendezvous at the designated as LZ. The outcome: two souls lost, and one fucked up VCR with a copy of Grease ruined inside. The operation was a success with minimal casualties.

My bathroom is a horrid place,

Demons there I cannot face,

Mildew thrives where best it can,

Pallid tiling, foul and wan,

Shower curtain likes to cling,

As I clean the fucking thing,

Toilet brush just prowls about,

As I scour disgusting grout,

My sink hangs limply to the wall,

Plumbing barely works at all,

Toilet bowl with all its might,

Such a minging fucking sight,

Toxic fumes do choke and maim,

Never use that room again.

Born

Beaten

Abused

Soldier

Chef

Night Porter

Writer

Ageing

Carer

Monday, 8:48am

Jack was walking briskly, as he always does, from where ever the thirty minute break between his first class and second allow him. He's headed back from the coffee shop, pointed towards the south wing of the main building. His ear buds are buzzing with a medley of punk songs, mostly by Screeching Weasel and The Adolescents. The concrete stairwell just inside the doors are the indicator to Jack that it's time to doff his buds and steel himself for another lecture that doesn't really ever stick in his mind. He marches over the polished floor of the stairwell, and takes the left into the main hallway off the second floor. Just as Jack gets his bearings in the hall, he can hear shouting coming from a classroom next to his. It doesn't sound like a tired professor beating his still dead horse. This is something completely different. He cautiously approaches the door, and peaks through the glass porthole. Instantly, Jack is set on edge by all of the faces carved in absolute fear and terror. There's a person in a mask next in the front of the class. There's no sign of the professor. Jack takes cover and grasps his dog tags. He exhales slowly and pulls out his phone. "911, what's your emergency?" "Yes, I'm at the city college in the north hall on the second floor. There's a person with a gun that has taken over a classroom. Please send some officers quickly. I don't think they'll be-" There's a quick, loud burst of shots. The two students in the front row tried to make an escape and paid with five .762 rifle rounds to the face. The classroom erupts in a chorus of cries and yells.

Jack swings the door open slowly and stays around the corner. "Listen man, I don't want this to get any more bloody. What do you want?" Two rounds sink deep into the door and spray splinters all over the floor and on Jack. "WHAT I WANT IS FUCKING TO BE HEARD. THESE ASSHOLES AND THIS PRICK OF A PROFESSOR WON'T TAKE ME SERIOUSLY. THERE'S SOMETHING COMING AND IT'LL TAKE US ALL TO HELL." Jack's forehead just above his left eyebrow is bleeding, a few splinters found their way under his skin. "Okay, buddy, just keep it cool and I'll help you out as much as I can, alright?" Jack slowly turns the corner and keeps his hands held up above his shoulders. The masked man keeps the end of the barrel trained on dead center mass, as Jack walks in between the rows of desks filled with frightened students. "YOU BETTER NOT BE TRYING TO FUCK ME, MAN. I'LL KILL YOU RIGHT WHERE YOU STAND. RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF ALL THOSE INFIDELS. YOU FUCKING TERRORISTS!" The masked man takes a step forward and pokes the business end of the rifle into the throat of the woman in the front row and forces a yelp from her lips.

9:05am

Jack is standing there, with his arms still up, and now he's acting as a barrier between the masked man and the students. He's not a hero by choice, but by circumstance. "What is it you want to say? Just say it, I'll listen." Jack says behind his gentle yet fiery brown eyes. "ALL THESE FUCKING IMMIGRANTS COMING INTO OUR COUNTRY ARE WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. THEY COME AND TAKE THE JOBS THAT WERE MADE FOR HONEST AND HARDWORKING WHITE AMERICANS. JUST LOOK AT ALL THESE FUCKING CHINKS AND SPICS IN THIS CLASS. THEY'RE TAKING UP SPOTS THAT COULD'VE BEEN FOR ACTUAL CITIZENS THAT PAY TAXES AND BILLS. THEY ARE ABSOLUTE SCUM." Jack could see something dripping from the chin of the mask. It could've been tears, snot, or sweat, he couldn't be sure. "Okay, that's understandable, but did you ever think that maybe some of these people here were born in America? That would make them citizens, just like you and me." The masked man jumps towards him and points the rifle into Jack's right eye. "ARE YOU SAYING THAT THESE NON-HUMAN SCUM BUCKETS ARE JUST LIKE ME?! THEY'LL NEVER BE ANYTHING CLOSE TO WHAT I AM. I AM A FUCKING DEMIGOD COMPARED TO THEM. NONE OF THEM WOULD EVER HAVE THE BALLS TO EVEN STAND UP FOR ANYTHING THEY BELIEVE IN." Jack hasn't budged. The barrel rests in the air just an inch in front of his eye. He know it wouldn't be long before this psycho snapped and shot everyone he could see. "I didn't mean that in a bad way, we're all Americans here. It's a wonderful place we live in, and we should try to keep it-" Jack slammed down his right arm and caught the barrel just in front the sight. As the gun tipped down towards the carpeted concrete ground, Jack brought up his left foot and forced it into the stomach of the masked man. While surprised by the quickness in which Jack acted, the masked man was able to keep a grip on the stock and a finger on the trigger. He sprayed rounds towards Jack's lunging body. Three sunk deep into his stomach and another two hit him in the right thigh. Jack landed on top of the masked man and wrapped his arms around the head and neck of the shooter. He squeezed and twisted like a python taking down it's prey. Before long, there was a snap and gurgling coming from the masked man. The mask had been ripped off from Jack's assault, and they could all see who it was. It was someone from the class who hadn't shown up. From the bloody pocket in Jack's jeans, there was a small voice. "The officers are entering the building, everyone get somewhere safe."

By this time, a few brave souls had ventured to the front of the class where the little battle had taken place. They were crying and attempting to stifle the bleeding in Jack's leg, but his blood still continued to pour out.

Friday 1:45pm

Jack woke up. He wasn't too sure where he was. There were white walls and curtains all around him. He finally looked over and saw all the devices attached to him and realized it was a hospital he was in. There was a nurse who just came through the door, carrying a tray of food in from a cart. "Look who is up! How are you feeling?" She asked with a huge smile on her face. "I feel like I have a rubber tube up my dick, and I'm freezing in this paper gown and IV fluids surging into my arm. How're you?" The nurse shot him a stern look and slid over a rolling stand with the food to the side of the bed. "Well, I wouldn't think a hero like you would be so snarky." Jack's bed was positioned into a seated L style. Jack looked over at the nurse and glared into her eyes. "I'm no fucking hero, you got that?"