Valkyrie Era: Nightmares

The gunfire shattered the wind around him and the fighter jets roared overhead. The land was dusty and broken from the pounding of boots and the bombs hidden beneath it. He ran. He ran as fast as he could and felt his heart pounding hard against his chest. He ran. He ran without thinking, the cold metal of a weapon clutched in his hands as if it would save him from this horror. He ran, hoping that he could run far enough to escape the war he was dragged into.

His foot landed on something hard beneath the sand, and he could hear a sharp click echo around him. It was surreal, like he was moving in slow motion. He couldn’t stop himself from moving forward at this point and so he let it overtake him. He tried to scream, but his lungs were twisted with fear and refused to let him. He felt the sand move under his boot and then came that blinding light.

The beating of the guns turned quickly into the beating of his heart. He jumped upwards, his screams suddenly could be heard. He looked around, completely in the dark and yet his mind was alive with the images of a war long away in his past. He could still hear it, the gunfire. He could hear the beating of it muffled by the thickly wet air of the night. He tried to move, and yet he couldn’t. He was trapped, ensnared by something and all he thought of was getting out.

He struggled against his restraints, hearing voices over the sound of the gunfire. Was it getting louder? His struggle was getting the attention of people nearby, the enemy. He had to get free and make a run for it. His arm finally found a way out of his restraint, and he leapt from the bag he had been captured in. He tore free of the plastic barrier between him and the outside world, the light of a street light blinding him.

He quickly covered his eyes, but he didn’t hesitate to run for it. He continued his running, trying to escape the gunfire and voices that shouted after him. He couldn’t understand them, they seemed to be speaking a language he didn’t know. It was them, the enemy. He was sure of it now and knew he had to get out of there before they could kill him. He raced down the pavement, the crunch of gravel under his boots sending him back to the sands of war.

It was dark, he couldn’t make out much other than the large structures around him. It was like a city, but he couldn’t be in a city out here in the desert. There was nothing like that where he was stationed, so they must have taken him somewhere far. The landscape was different, but the sound of gunfire seemed to be getting louder. He covered his ears, quickly turning a corner and coming face to face with reality.

Before him sat an older gentleman with a set of old drums. He was beating away at them and singing in a language he didn’t understand, but the older man stopped when he saw him. He quickly stood up, holding his drums as if they would save him from the disillusioned man before him. That’s when he heard them, the shouts of people behind him.

The words were no longer jumbled by his memories, and he could start to understand what they were saying. “James! James dude you’re okay!” The man turned to look at the man calling his name. He looked at the man’s hispanic complexion and realized he knew this man. As he approached, he heard his name once more from him. “James, man you gotta relax.” The man said, trying to catch his breath. “Breathe man, you’re not there anymore. Come back to us.”

James. That was his name. He looked down at his shirt and noticed his nameplate wasn’t there. “Taylor…” James said, looking at his hands to see they didn’t hold a weapon. He thought he was there, in the war. No, he knew he was there. How did he get here of all places? The man let out a large sigh, raising his hand to the drummer and giving him an apologetic look. “He's good man, just give him a minute.”

James Taylor. Your name is James Taylor, former marine for the United States of America. James Taylor. James Taylor, James- “Taylor.” The man in front of him spoke again, and James found himself looking away from his clenched hands and back at him. “Mark?” James questioned the man, and started to remember that this was his friend. The man before him was Mark Hernandez, a former member of the United States Army.

“Hey man, it’s all good.” Mark replied, smiling at him as he caught his breath. “You scared the shit outta us back there man.” He laughed, knowing that James was good enough out of it to take things a bit easier with him. James stood there, looking around at the street lights that illuminated the downtown streets of Houston. He had run a good distance, not even seeing the pall park anymore.

James and Mark lived in tents below an underpass of Houston, Texas. This was his home, and suddenly James could feel how heavy it was on his heart. “Sorry, Hernandez. It was just so real this time.” He quickly let his thoughts flood over into regrets. He can’t believe he did it again. James needed to be over this already, and he couldn’t let people see him like this. How would he ever find a job if he couldn’t keep himself together?