Maniac Dawn -- The Soldier

A cloud no larger than a seat cushion descends amongst the fog, smoke, and fire. It hovers over a young man, only twenty-two. His name is Benjamin, but everyone calls him Benji. Like the dog.

Benji had two legs five minutes ago. His small intestine and his dick, too. But Humpty Dumpty fell off the wall and had a great fall; and all the king's horses and all the king's men can't put Benji's favorite legs or his grenade shrapnel-strewn breadbasket back together again.

Alone. Left to die in this sweltering foreign land amongst a fell symphony of screams: mothers, children, and men; sorrow, horror, and hatred.

Death. Take me, Benji prays to no god in particular. Five minutes ago he was a Catholic, but the rosary wrapped around his wrist holds no more significance to him right now than the charred and acrid shoelaces of his combat boots that, five minutes ago, defined his feet. His pain is of a kind that mocks the very concept of existence, his internal scream unrelenting and abject.

The amorphous dark cloud hovering over poor Benji pulsates and breaks apart to reveal its composition like strands of hair seen with the naked eye after viewed through the microscope lens. Thousands of mosquitoes alight on Benji's face and envelop it in a writhing fury of bloodlust.

Then, a voice.

Benjamin, you hear me. You are not alone. This pain can end now. All I ask is one favor.

Anything.

In your present state, believe it or not, you will survive. The medics are running through the jungle right now. They're going to hoist you onto a stretcher. You will let them, because you haven't the will to protest. But let me look further into your future and tell you that if you make it to the base hospital via helicopter you're looking at a life of shit. No legs, no dick, pissing in a bag. You're twenty-two. That's a lot of fucking pain. And I know you want to survive, even if you think you don't. It's human nature. But in the long run the pain you're feeling now is crumbs on the table compared to what you're going to feel. Trust me, I know.

I just want to end everything.

Oh, you will. When the medics arrive, ask them to huddle close. Despite your...injuries, your arms and voice are in tip-top shape. Pretend neither are. Ready your bayonet. Then stab them in their throats.

Then can I die?

Only if they do first.