Last Entry by lonely_warrior

Last Entry
by
� lonely_warrior_99

Text Peter Frampton blaring over the jukebox, the smell of cigarettes and stale beer brought me back from a drunken sleep. Big fat hands with short stubby fingers that resemble sausages slammed down on the counter near my head. "Last call!" Peeling my face off the dried beer stained bar, I tried focusing my eyes. Lighting the butt I found on the floor, I inhaled the smoke deeply, filling my lugs with poison. Feeling the room begin to spin, I tighten my grip on the bar. "I said last call, somebody get this damn Indian outta here." I turned to come face to face with a huge redneck bartender with clenched fist. "I guarantee you boy, you will leave, either on your feet or on your ass."

Tasting the warm blood trickling from my mouth, I struggled to my feet underneath the flashing neon sign, where the fat man dumped me. The parking
lot is nearly empty, except for a pick up truck loaded with native brothers, fallen warriors. Like me, they had become 'casualties of civilization'.

The figure of an old man is outlined by dawn resting on the horizon. His aged body grunts as he bends to lay his tattered hat at his feet, with clouded gray eyes he looks to the east as he pinches pollen from a jar. Clearing his throat he
started his morning prayer, "Usen, thank you for another night of good sleep, I stand before you a simple man, all I have is my prayer to keep me strong. Guide my thoughts, word, and deed throughout this day. Watch over my children and their children, keeping them safe and out of harms way�" His voice turned into
a low mumble as he continued his prayer.

Loud laughter broke the stillness of the morning; a group of young men appeared in a distance walking towards the old man talking loudly. As they came closer their intoxication became apparent. One man scolded another man, "shut up, can't you see he's praying." Silently they staggered by, picking up the laughter when they were safely out of distance. "Ayeii ha ha, the "Purples" mannn," faded out with the men as they turned the corner, infuriating the neighborhood dogs who were caught sleeping on their watch.

The smell of wood burning stoves lingers in the morning air; somewhere a
rooster sounded his wake up call, as a pack of dogs is led across the street by a female dog in heat. A neighborhood woman comes out of her house carrying a
pot of steaming water that will be used to wash up before breakfast.

The old man eyes wells up with tears, his prayer becomes more intense, "I am an old man, I give you thanks letting me live this long. I have seen many changes in my time, both good and bad. Usen, strengthen the people to endure the hardship that are still yet to come. Watch over my grandson, help him turn his life around, bring him back to us. Thank you for everything". Making a complete circle to his right he bends over with another grunt, slowly picking up his hat he makes his way back towards the shade house.

...Awaken by the warm morning sun seeping through dry cottonwood leaves that covered the shade house, I freed myself from the blood stained blanket that stuck to my face. The pounding in my head and the sensation of urine soaked jeans
told me I was still alive. Alive? Does this mean I must go through another day? Find some way to survive until nightfall? With trembling fingers I touched my swollen lips, trying to remember how I got back to grandpa's place from the bar.

"Grandson," the familiar voice whispered, "are you all right, are you hurt?" "Yes grandpa, I'm all right," I lied, even though every inch of my body was screaming in pain.

Grandpa sat at the entrance of the shade house, both hands resting on his cane. The years and hard times left their tracks on his face. But some how I felt older than his eighty-seven years. His age and wisdom demanded a respect that I
could not summon.

Taking a long cool drink from the burlap water sack that hung from a nailed post, I started to clear the cobwebs from my head. The wine and beer I had consumed the day before was filtering through my system, as I stumble towards the outhouse.

Today, of all days, I welcome death. The attempt of total destruction of my body and soul had failed. All I felt was shame and degradation. Sleep brought temporary relief. But even in my dreams I could still see the oncoming headlights, hear the eerie sound of twisting medal, and the gurgling sound of death as I crawled through tires, gasoline, and mangle bodies. I had survived, but why?

Now I walk this earth in a daze, my life have long since left my body. I am but a shell of a man, without thought or pride. Having knelt at the feet of the gangrene colored bottle called T-Bird, I offered my soul. Everything good in my life I destroyed, families, friends, mothers, and fathers, nothing is beneath me. Unwilling to crawl out of this hell I have created, I wait. For soon deaths loving arms will embrace me and relieve my pain. One year ago today, I stood over the graves of my brothers and sisters. Beautiful people whose lives ended before
their time. For this I am to blame.

Having washed the dried blood from my face, I sat down on the bed. Reaching between the torn, stained mattress I pulled out my green friend. With shaky hands, I twisted off the medal cap. Taking a deep breath I closed my eyes, raised the bottle to my mouth. I took big gulps, not letting the sweet cheap grapes breathe until the drop has made its way down my throat. Tears flooded my eyes as I flipped the cap off another friend.