Lifeless, unwanted things…A short story…AWID

The sunlight glinting off of the mountain ranges radiates orange hues off the crags of the mountain’s rocky face. I stare at it for a few moments while I search for my composure. “Look at the slivers of the morning sun, it looks like God’s fingers are reaching out to me this morning.”

Behind me, I hear the cause of my morning headache shift his feet. I turn and glare at him. “Tell me Private Morrison, are you always a world-class scrub, or is today a special occasion?” Jonathon T. Morrison stands 6’3, is built like a Mack truck, his hair is cut into the common military high-and-tight. He shifts nervously while searching for an answer. “No, Sergeant. I am usually pretty squared away.”

I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. “This clown thinks he is squared away. Don’t lose your cool. Just breathe.” To my dismay, following my advice to breathe causes the rage in my heart to come out my mouth. “Are you kidding me, Private? You’re dumber than dirt. Who in their right mind would punch their wife?”

“It’s not my fault!” I look at this man who towers over my 5’7 frame. He is whimpering like a child. “What’s next, snot bubbles?” I stare at this whimpering mass of blubbering waste of God-given oxygen. “Jesus. Okay. I’ll play, Morrison. Whose fault is it, that you sucker punched your wife?”

“Sergeant, you don’t understand. I love her.” I shake my head in frustration. “I want to thrash this kid.”

“Let’s get something straight, idiot. You don’t assault the people you love.”

“Can you help me repair my relationship with my wife?”

“No. Jesus Christ has the power of resurrection, not Larry. There is no chance I can resurrect your relationship.” Morrison begins squalling again. “You don’t care about my relationship.”

“Nope, not in the least.” He sobs and pants, stomps and kicks. “I don’t know what else to do?” I try to put the lid down on my temper. Maybe if I can explain what this idiot’s malfunction is, he will get it.

“Your problem is that you don’t make an effort. If you cared one whit about your wife or relationship, you would sort your business out and fix it. Instead, you want to blame everyone and everything for your lack of initiative.”

Morrison wipes at his tears. “See, you don’t understand.” I shove him against the wall. “What? What don’t I understand, Private? You have personal relationships-you leave them to their own fate. You have a marriage- you make no effort. You have a career. You make all sorts of effort, but you’re too stupid to take advantage of your opportunities. You are a SCRUB. YOU MAKE NO EFFORT, AND YOU’RE LEFT WITH LIFELESS UNWANTED THINGS.”

He cries and reaches for me. I shove him into a chair. “Don’t touch me, Morrison. Your stupidity may be contagious.” Private Morrison continues to cry, and I feel the anger swell up within me again. Struggling with the desire to choke him, I finally sit down across from him. “Let me show you how a normal person would react in this situation, Morrison. If I decked my wife with a right hook, I wouldn’t be here squalling. I would be looking for a counselor, anything to help me get over this temper. Your wife isn’t going to want to hear you blab about loving her. She isn’t going to care about your hollow locution. She wants to see you make an effort. Otherwise, go on down to the courthouse and get your divorce papers. What are you doing? Crying, complaining and blaming anyone in earshot for your failures. Do us all a favor and shut up. Either get with the program or get lost.”

I stand to my feet and walk out of the room. As I walk across the parking lot to the barracks, my own relationship with my ex-wife clouds my mind. “I guess I am angry because it wasn’t too long ago, I also made no effort, just like Morrison. All I am left with is lifeless, unwanted things.”

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