They were 18 to 64

Boys made into men

Men made into boys

They were brothers, fighting together

Amongst the trees, besides the embers

Beneath the smoke, beyond the fires

They did their job, they held the line

The helicopter came, the first bunch left

No one said anything, it wasn't abnormal

Who would have guessed, what happened next?

They were 18 to 64

Boys made into men

Men made into boys

The second bunch, their luck ran out

The helicopter, it clipped the trees

It hit the ground, rolled down the hill

Into the boulder, the boulder moved

The crew they screamed, they moaned and groaned

The cabin filled with smoke, the fire exploded

Nine now dead, four somehow alive

They couldn't escape, they could only die

Mothers weeped, wives cried

Fathers sat in silence, everyone wondered why

Two pilots, seven firefighters

Who would have guessed, what happened next?

They were 18 to 64

Once men, now nine coffins

They became, the Iron 44

No more men, no more boys

The company, knew they were wrong

Flew the helicopters, for the money

Forged the documents, hid and lied

Jail time, but only a short time

Hold the memories, celebrate the birthdays

Walk the path, hold true to their beliefs

A cousin of mine, just 21

Supposed to on the vacation, didn't want to leave his brothers

Hold the memories, celebrate the birthdays

Remember the day, August 5th 2008

Talk to him everyday, ask him for help

And that is why, he, they are no longer dead

The sunrise is great, beautiful really, but I can’t focus on it. I can’t see it. Not really. I’m too lost, too distracted. I just can’t do it right now, really I can’t. I have been, but I can’t. I laugh, I joke, I talk, but it’s still there. Deep down it hurts. I can’t say anything, I can’t feel anything, I can’t scream loud enough to break the silence. I forget about it sometimes. Sometimes it’s like it was never even there, but the smallest things send it shooting back up. An invisible barrier between me and everyone. It’s a deep, throbbing pain that resides in my chest. It pulses through my lungs, strangling the air until it hurts to breathe. It’s the feeling that I’m shaking and trembling when I’m sitting perfectly still. It’s the cold shiver that holds itself between me and the warmth around me. It’s what I stare after when my friends and family have to pull me back to Earth. Why do they see it?

I hide it. Why? I want them to know. I want them to help. I can’t find the words. The words I do find send me into a panic and I can’t. I get so tired of it, I go to sleep early. I lay down and then… I’m wide awake. Thinking… Regretting. I fabricate and change and write words, but this is the truth. The undeniable, terrifying, towering, truth. It hurts. Tears break through in the same annoying way and I’m glad no one is there to ask, but I want them to know. I want them to feel it, to know, to help, but I’ve never been a brave person. I’ve been fearless in carelessness, but never with words. Words that have to be chosen carefully, precisely. I bury it deeper, try and forget it even more, but the pain pushed down just seems to echo louder. I feel like I’m shaking just writing this. I wonder if someone will see these words or if I’ll delete them later. I don’t want to. I want people to know what it’s really about, but I feel so stupid, so embarrassed about how I feel, because it’s irrelevant to everything. I try to tell them.

I open doors, slowly, cautiously, and they don’t hear me. So I let the doors slam in my face. I’ll try again later, but I know it’ll have the same result. They can’t hear screaming if you keep it in your head. They can’t hear the pain in the silence. They can’t see how you feel. They can’t feel your thoughts. They can’t know without help. I don’t think they’d know even if I told them. It’s something you have to feel. Something they won’t feel. I want to talk to them, but there is never time. What happened to time? Where is time? I want to find it. I want it to be here, in the darkness, in the silence, like an alarm blaring in the dark morning. I want time to be here. I want it to wake me up, out of this nightmare.

I try to cry out, but something stops me. Like drowning. Like every time you open your mouth to scream the water traps the sound and pushes it back down your throat. No. Not water. Not drowning. Quicksand. Sinking. You do nothing and you sink. You struggle and fight and every ounce of strength buries you more. If only there were one person who was standing by you. Someone who could lift you out, after all I’ve done my fair share of lifting. Of saving. I do it, even though I’m still stuck. Even though I help them out and they leave. It’s my fault they leave, I shouldn’t have hid the fact that I was sinking too. That’s how I knew to pull them out. Their fear, sadness, anger, pain, I saw it reflecting in their eyes. I saw deep down. I saw them screaming. I knew the words that would free them.

I made progress. Backwards progress. I chose the wrong words. I chose backwards, fake words and someone saw through them. She knew. She saw my eyes. She saw me drowning… She pulled me out. For a while I was free… But there was an issue. I never made it out of the quicksand. She saw me drowning… She didn’t hear me scream. She’s gone now, I can’t yell loud enough to bring her back. She can’t hear me. They STILL DON’T HEAR ME!!! I scream finally loud enough to make a noise… But it’s too late. I’m sitting at the bottom, underneath miles of sand. Too far away to be heard. I look around. It’s not quicksand. I wish it was. I wish I suffocated. I wish I had drowned, but I was still here, still drawing in seconds, still waiting for time.

I’ve taken a lot of things for granted, but this was by far the worst. For two years I believed it would be forever. I always counted the somedays, one days, tomorrow, and now, as an infinity, but in less than a day it switched to nothing more than yesterdays. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stop shaking. I still can’t stop trembling. I can’t stop the cold. I can’t stop hoping I’ll get another day, but everyday that chance fades and it hurts more. It hurts. It still hurts. Everyday hurts more. Each feeling feels less. Anger twists around me like a thorny vine. Hurting me and hurting everything that comes towards me equally. It protects me from my sadness, but it just makes it hurt even more. It tries to block my tears from the world, but it doesn’t help, they still slip though, choking me as I fall into an uneasy sleep.

I’m okay. It’s okay. I tell them as I shiver at the invisible cold. I’m happy, I laugh, I make them laugh. They turn away and the smile leaves with them, my eyes burying the pain inside. It’s stupid, I tell myself, there’s no reason to be sad. I smile at my reflection, convincing my eyes to see how happy I am. I see pictures of me and my friends. Smile! I remember them saying it. Telling me to. I remember doing what they said. An empty smile. I stumbled across a photo my mom had taken. She didn’t tell me to smile. It was who was standing next to me. She made me smile. It wasn’t a good picture. The sunset ignited the sides of the image in a way that revealed every little flaw. Her eyes were a pure white from the glare. My hair was a mess. I looked cringy. I hated the way I looked. But I took the photograph anyway. I couldn't stop staring in awe. There was a real genuine smile on my face. I mimicked that smile from there on out. It convinced them. It convinced me. I’m tense. Fake happy hard. Fake it until you make it, right? How long until I make it? I fell asleep, convinced I was making it.

My dream was horrifying. I couldn’t free my gaze from the woman across the room. I knew it was a dream. It was still terrifying. Her hair was drenched, hanging down past her waist like soggy seaweed. Her mouth stretched down impossibly far, her eyes bulged from her head. They called her the Screaming Lady. You could see the desperation in her face as she was locked in a permanent scream that made no sound. She followed me around. Her face. Her name. Trodded around my head all day. I thought about it. I thought about how they say parts of your dreams are trying to subconsciously tell you something. I realized why she was there. She was the part of me I was trying to forget. The part that was still screaming. With that the fake wall fell away. I felt the pain again. I began to drown again. I’m still screaming. Right now I’m screaming. These words seem random and weak and fake, but I. Am. Still. Screaming. I’m running out of breath.

It hurts to scream, but I keep doing it anyway. These words scare me. I know their truth. I feel the pain rise in my chest, throbbing like a second heartbeat. Right beside me. My shadow that I can’t let go of. My friend knows. He asks me why I’m sad. I have no reason to be sad, he says, unlike him. I want to tell him that pain is irrelative. It affects people for different reasons. The same reason hurts people at different levels. It doesn’t mean one is better and one is worse, they just are. I don’t say anything. Just shrug and walk away. Denying. Avoiding. He can talk to others, all of us he talks to understand his pain. They don’t get mine, I stay silent. I want to explain it to them, but I can’t find someone who’s felt the same way. I want to find them. I want to tell them. I want to cry. I want them to comfort me. But I don’t want pity. I don’t want the pretense of understanding. I want them to know! Why can’t anyone know? Why do I have to be so stupid? So childish. I hate it. I hate me. I scream. I don’t think I’ll ever stop.

But it's okay... I'm Okay.

"Alright class, sorry I'm late, sorry I'm late. I got stuck in the parking lot. Had to help Security; a woman dropped her purse down one of those man hole things at the entrance to the building. The kind that just look like prison bars? I don't know what that one is for, maybe access to a tunnel or something. Anyway, I had a crowbar in my trunk. which I lent them to prop the thing up and get the purse out. Luckily. Had her phone in it, wallet, keys. She got lucky. Ok, moving on. Moral of the story, always carry a crowbar. So, we left off last class discussing South American agriculture. We were talking about staples: corn, wheat, amaranth with a focus on the medicinal uses and values of plants, herbs and spices..."

Consume.

The one thing she had to do. The one thing that would help her achieve the her sweetest desires.

Destroy.

Take a thing, burn it down. She was always surprised at how many things were flammable.

Avenge.

All her destruction and consumption was all for this. Burn everything he loved.

And he loved everything.

He taught her wrongly, fed her lies... he was a lie, wasn't he?

Once she was a Christian. Or, she called herself one. She still didn't know what it meant to be one. A liar. That's what they were.

And if that's true, I don't need to burn anything, do I? He doesn't exist, therefore he can't love everything.

He did exist... in their minds. And if that was enough existence to be called an existence, so be it. He existed which meant he still loved all things.

So I will burn it all, set it in flames. Everything will die, everything will disappear... even me.

He somehow still loves me, even though I'm putting him through all of this. He still loves me. If he's even real. Which he isn't. But I'll burn it anyway. I've heard the truth now. I've heard how foolish I've been to believe that such a loving, living God exists. There is no such thing. He was the one thing I held onto throughout my childhood, through all my abuse. And he never helped me. He never brought me out of my misery, never even let me try to end my misery. He always interfered, trying to let me suffer.

But...

...

No. Nothing is going to stop me. I can't afford to think like that. I've destroyed so much, comsumed it all in fire... I can't stop now. It's a big task that I've given myself, and I'm going to complete it. No one will stop me from accomplishing this. Not even myself.

No one could stop her from turning away from the Christian faith. And that was apparently a pretty difficult task. She'd done the impossible, she could do it again.

No one will stop me.

Consume.

Destroy.

Avenge.

Avenge the life thta I've lost, the one that I could have lived. The one that had been sacrificed for some stupid, ungrounded beliefs. The beliefs that told me my life would be okay, the ones that made it the worst.

Here's to the only thing I know how to do.

Suffer.

Destroy.

Ruin.

She struck a match and took away more of what he loved.

First her home.

Then the earth.

Then herself.