He lifted the bottle of Jack to his lips for another hit and noticed the bloody state of his knuckles with only passing interest; he had given the bouncers a run for their money as they threw him out. The pain of his bruised and battered body was being dulled quite effectively by the mix of drinks coursing through his system.
Where was he going again? Right....down toward the bridge; another trip to Canada would cheer him up a bit, get his mind off of that bitch. God how he missed her. How long had it been now" Maybe three weeks....four at the most. He couldn't really remember any more, most of the last several weeks were a blur anyway. Maybe he should go see her; Lisa could always cheer him up after all.
Beautiful Lisa"
His thoughts drifted to that now distant time when he was last truly happy. The night he met her was nearly a decade ago. Who's party was that, he wondered, but it didn't matter. She had been there. He saw her across the room and wanted her right there. It took him almost all night to get her into bed that day, she was worth the effort.
"Fuck!" He cursed loudly as his leg gave out underneath him. Catching himself on a wall, he rose again, only to stumble forward again and didn't quite catch himself this time. He hit the ground hard, his massive frame making a solid thud as it hit the pavement.
"God damn this bullshit"I fucking hate this thing." His anger grew as he pulled himself back up with the help of the cane is his off hand, the one not occupied by his all important Jack.
He stumbles past a tattoo parlor, the Laughing Gremlin. That brings back memories"
That was the very parlor where he got his two tattoos. He went there almost eight years ago after dropping out of State (school was for pussies anyways). He had 'Lisa' tattooed across his back and right above it is 'USMC'.
He enlisted the next day.
Lisa had cried when he told her about it, but another good fucking had her smiling away again. It was his choice and he knew he would make a good marine, and he did. Within two years he was a full-fledged Recon Marine: the best of the best. SEAL's didn't have anything on him and his boys.
"Need another one," he muttered to himself. "Just got to find a store." His bottle was empty and he knew as much as he had ever known anything that just a few more would make all the pain go away; cheer him right up.
He stumbled into a semi-familiar liquor store and grabbed another bottle of Jack. The clerk tried to stop him on his way out the door. Big mistake. In an act of mercy he had not learned in the Core, he only broke the mans left arm and only in one place.
Stumbling back out into the cold night air, he feels a sudden blast of awareness. Realizing the error of his purchasing decision, he runs for about two miles toward the bridge. Canada will cheer him up.
He had proposed to Lisa in Canada on the four year anniversary of his joining the Core. It also happened to be on his first leave from active duty in the war. She was all too thrilled to final be engaged to someone who could take care of her so she could quit her crappy little job. They had decided to get married when he got back again in six months or so. She planned her dream wedding while he fought overseas. They had their perfect wedding and he went back to the war.
A man in a uniform walked past him, most likely just got off the bus and had to walk the rest of the way home. He saw the Lieutenants stripes and reflexively saluted the man. The man returned the salute with a look of disgust and kept walking past. Officers didn't used to sneer at him; no he was admired by all.
After making Sergeant on his second tour, other Marines respected and feared him; Respected him for his myriad victories, forty-seven confirmed kills in twenty successful missions and feared him for the very same reason. He had been everything a Marine was supposed to be: strong, loyal, fearless and totally uncompromising in his pursuit of victory. But those very traits are what got him to where he was now. Just one more mission then home, he had told himself, home to see his wife Lisa and the son he had never seen before, Richard.
He could still hear the bullets flying all around him. It was just another mission like all the others: a routine raid on the insurgents. His men were screaming, they were afraid. An ambush....they were all around his squad, dozens of them on every side. Johnson had gone down first to the sniper that pinned them in place. O"mally, Williams, Decoust: all dead before they even knew what was happening. The others began to fall one after the other as the insurgents began to close their trap. Then the mortars started to fall all around them. There were explosions on every side...
Aaron could almost feel the heat on his cheeks as he fell through another ally trying to drown the past. The thought of his old friends was too much and he vomited on the sidewalk. He had lost so much in that dessert, too much he thought now.
Lisa hadn't thought so at first. When he was being showered with medals, she was the perfect humble wife by his side. But in private, she hated the freak he was now; wouldn't even let him touch her. She shouldn't have done that to him. That's why it happened; she made him do it.
He had been drinking a lot that night, wouldn't have had to if she didn't drive him to it. She shouldn't have nagged him like that. She knew how he was when he was drunk. He knew that if she had just shut up he wouldn't have done that to her. He hadn't even meant to hit her, he was aiming at the wall behind her but his aim was off when he was drinking. He hadn't seen her since that night, he had stormed out after what happened. The bridge at last.
Canada would cheer him up. He knew it would. Aaron stumbled out onto to the bridge and through the toll booth onto the walkway. Leaning heavily on the cane he noticed that again he was out of Jack Daniels. He threw the bottle casually over the side of the bridge, almost half way across now.
The cane shattered beneath him; It must have gotten cracked when the bouncers threw him out of the last bar in which he had been drinking. Reaching down with a vice-like hold, Aaron winced as pain shot up his leg.
The thought of his leg takes him back in time again, this time to Reburn. The bastard had made a run for it, trying to outrun an ambush. It was a novice mistake he knew he shouldn't have attempted. The boy had been hit a good six times by a spray from an AK47. But Aaron was Sergeant: he had to go get his boy and he did. Breaking cover, Aaron had run out to the boy, shouting to his men for covering fire. He had Reburn almost half up onto his shoulders when it happened. A grenade went off about 4 feet behind him. He should be dead. Reburn got the worst of it, lucky bastard, but it had torn through Aaron's leg, shattering bone and shredding tendons. His back was little more then a mess of bloody tissue after that.
He grabbed the rail to help himself stand again. He got back to his feet, pain coursing through his leg. He looks over the side of the bridge; it's so far down....so far down to the cold water. The cold would feel good, so good.
The river could end his pain like no trip to Canada ever could, he realized. It would be so easy to end it all right now. What did he have left' The doctors said he would never carry a rifle in the Core again. Lisa was gone and she had taken Richard with her. As his broad, calloused hands grasped the railing, he wondered if she would come to his funeral. Would she ever tell Richard about him?
He missed them both so much, the image of her face was burned into his very soul. All he could see was the shock, the horror in her expression, tears welling up in her eyes. He hadn't meant to hit her, hadn't meant for any of it. He let his boys die....he made her leave....and it would be so easy to just end it all.
The water was colder then he thought it would be.
Where was he going again? Right....down toward the bridge; another trip to Canada would cheer him up a bit, get his mind off of that bitch. God how he missed her. How long had it been now" Maybe three weeks....four at the most. He couldn't really remember any more, most of the last several weeks were a blur anyway. Maybe he should go see her; Lisa could always cheer him up after all.
Beautiful Lisa"
His thoughts drifted to that now distant time when he was last truly happy. The night he met her was nearly a decade ago. Who's party was that, he wondered, but it didn't matter. She had been there. He saw her across the room and wanted her right there. It took him almost all night to get her into bed that day, she was worth the effort.
"Fuck!" He cursed loudly as his leg gave out underneath him. Catching himself on a wall, he rose again, only to stumble forward again and didn't quite catch himself this time. He hit the ground hard, his massive frame making a solid thud as it hit the pavement.
"God damn this bullshit"I fucking hate this thing." His anger grew as he pulled himself back up with the help of the cane is his off hand, the one not occupied by his all important Jack.
He stumbles past a tattoo parlor, the Laughing Gremlin. That brings back memories"
That was the very parlor where he got his two tattoos. He went there almost eight years ago after dropping out of State (school was for pussies anyways). He had 'Lisa' tattooed across his back and right above it is 'USMC'.
He enlisted the next day.
Lisa had cried when he told her about it, but another good fucking had her smiling away again. It was his choice and he knew he would make a good marine, and he did. Within two years he was a full-fledged Recon Marine: the best of the best. SEAL's didn't have anything on him and his boys.
"Need another one," he muttered to himself. "Just got to find a store." His bottle was empty and he knew as much as he had ever known anything that just a few more would make all the pain go away; cheer him right up.
He stumbled into a semi-familiar liquor store and grabbed another bottle of Jack. The clerk tried to stop him on his way out the door. Big mistake. In an act of mercy he had not learned in the Core, he only broke the mans left arm and only in one place.
Stumbling back out into the cold night air, he feels a sudden blast of awareness. Realizing the error of his purchasing decision, he runs for about two miles toward the bridge. Canada will cheer him up.
He had proposed to Lisa in Canada on the four year anniversary of his joining the Core. It also happened to be on his first leave from active duty in the war. She was all too thrilled to final be engaged to someone who could take care of her so she could quit her crappy little job. They had decided to get married when he got back again in six months or so. She planned her dream wedding while he fought overseas. They had their perfect wedding and he went back to the war.
A man in a uniform walked past him, most likely just got off the bus and had to walk the rest of the way home. He saw the Lieutenants stripes and reflexively saluted the man. The man returned the salute with a look of disgust and kept walking past. Officers didn't used to sneer at him; no he was admired by all.
After making Sergeant on his second tour, other Marines respected and feared him; Respected him for his myriad victories, forty-seven confirmed kills in twenty successful missions and feared him for the very same reason. He had been everything a Marine was supposed to be: strong, loyal, fearless and totally uncompromising in his pursuit of victory. But those very traits are what got him to where he was now. Just one more mission then home, he had told himself, home to see his wife Lisa and the son he had never seen before, Richard.
He could still hear the bullets flying all around him. It was just another mission like all the others: a routine raid on the insurgents. His men were screaming, they were afraid. An ambush....they were all around his squad, dozens of them on every side. Johnson had gone down first to the sniper that pinned them in place. O"mally, Williams, Decoust: all dead before they even knew what was happening. The others began to fall one after the other as the insurgents began to close their trap. Then the mortars started to fall all around them. There were explosions on every side...
Aaron could almost feel the heat on his cheeks as he fell through another ally trying to drown the past. The thought of his old friends was too much and he vomited on the sidewalk. He had lost so much in that dessert, too much he thought now.
Lisa hadn't thought so at first. When he was being showered with medals, she was the perfect humble wife by his side. But in private, she hated the freak he was now; wouldn't even let him touch her. She shouldn't have done that to him. That's why it happened; she made him do it.
He had been drinking a lot that night, wouldn't have had to if she didn't drive him to it. She shouldn't have nagged him like that. She knew how he was when he was drunk. He knew that if she had just shut up he wouldn't have done that to her. He hadn't even meant to hit her, he was aiming at the wall behind her but his aim was off when he was drinking. He hadn't seen her since that night, he had stormed out after what happened. The bridge at last.
Canada would cheer him up. He knew it would. Aaron stumbled out onto to the bridge and through the toll booth onto the walkway. Leaning heavily on the cane he noticed that again he was out of Jack Daniels. He threw the bottle casually over the side of the bridge, almost half way across now.
The cane shattered beneath him; It must have gotten cracked when the bouncers threw him out of the last bar in which he had been drinking. Reaching down with a vice-like hold, Aaron winced as pain shot up his leg.
The thought of his leg takes him back in time again, this time to Reburn. The bastard had made a run for it, trying to outrun an ambush. It was a novice mistake he knew he shouldn't have attempted. The boy had been hit a good six times by a spray from an AK47. But Aaron was Sergeant: he had to go get his boy and he did. Breaking cover, Aaron had run out to the boy, shouting to his men for covering fire. He had Reburn almost half up onto his shoulders when it happened. A grenade went off about 4 feet behind him. He should be dead. Reburn got the worst of it, lucky bastard, but it had torn through Aaron's leg, shattering bone and shredding tendons. His back was little more then a mess of bloody tissue after that.
He grabbed the rail to help himself stand again. He got back to his feet, pain coursing through his leg. He looks over the side of the bridge; it's so far down....so far down to the cold water. The cold would feel good, so good.
The river could end his pain like no trip to Canada ever could, he realized. It would be so easy to end it all right now. What did he have left' The doctors said he would never carry a rifle in the Core again. Lisa was gone and she had taken Richard with her. As his broad, calloused hands grasped the railing, he wondered if she would come to his funeral. Would she ever tell Richard about him?
He missed them both so much, the image of her face was burned into his very soul. All he could see was the shock, the horror in her expression, tears welling up in her eyes. He hadn't meant to hit her, hadn't meant for any of it. He let his boys die....he made her leave....and it would be so easy to just end it all.
The water was colder then he thought it would be.