Emaciation (Recovery Part 4)

I've never experienced a trauma this deep. It is as if, after so many years of satisfaction and structure and competence of intelligent individuals, a great omnipotent hand has swept in and brought a mocking ruin to everything. Like part of a big joke, a prank, a deity with no remorse or compassion choosing to play a game with smaller mortals who have spent all their lives constructing strength and confidence for themselves. Just to make fun of their pathetic efforts. How could this happen? How?

I want to see the end. I want to be able to sleep tonight and never, ever wake up. There is a soft smile only in believing there is an end to the suffering, a final curtain to fall on all things real, and it settles like rain on my upturned face, masking my true emotion. I wish for an overwhelming flood to see my release. I hate this life. I want to die.

The visual distinction of the dreams evaded remembrance; the only shadow left behind at the onset of the morning light was the fleeting glitter of thought. The impression of the terrible dream, as I sat up from a spot against a tree trunk, my hand still gripping the blade, my body automatically shoving me into motion.

As if to respond to the unknown details of my dream, I discovered a mighty waterfall. Starved and aching, I begged of the crisp water to relieve me of at least one component of my agony. That it did, and as I took gulps of it and leaned in to allow its crushing volume to blind my ears, I recognized a feeling I hadn't had in a long time. An excruciating awareness. When you're this exhausted and hungry, you can feel everything at once.

As if to try to distract myself from the immanence of this dangerous suicidal spearpoint, I grabbed the radio and called desperately for someone to answer - anyone. Somebody talk to me. Give my mind a focus. Anything. Rooster?

To my great shock, a voice did respond. Immediately. In a different language. The enemy soldiers had intercepted a teammate's radio and were talking into it. Soon they could triangulate my position. White terror emptied out of my armpits.

I quickly filled my canteen and hurried back into the jungle. Mad with hunger. Desperate for rescue.

Maybe the alien voices triggered something. The knife had a compass in it and, remembering that simple fact, I used it to aim for the next nearest outpost, a forward fire base further up the river called Delta 6. With a little luck I could track it down. With a lot of luck, they wouldn't shoot me on sight.

Although in actuality, that might be the best luck possible.