Life After War

   My name is Carnard, Carnard Goings. I'm 53 years old and I just finished serving 30 years in the U.S. Military, and within those 30 years of my service I've witnessed it all. From saving babies out of burning buildings, watching my close friends die, running from the crazed suicidal bombers who threatened to blow us up along with themselves, and the most traumatic thing ever... Holding my baby brother as he slowly bled out and died in my arms.

   See, growing up I was always extremely jealous of him. He had all the ladies, and all the elders favored him because he was extremely better looking than I was. I hated him for that, but when both our parents died in a wreck he became my son, my child, my responsibility, and my everything. Everybody even started calling him "Lil Carnard" when his name was Cardelo, and that was the first time i put my hatred to the side and realized he looked up to me and followed me. Which is EXACTLY why I blame myself for EVERYTHING. 

   I Sergeant Goings was the reason my brother Cardelo joined the army, I was the reason he got shot, and for goodness sake I was the one who shot him. If I would've been thinking with my head he still would've been here. It's all my fault, and to this very day I still think about it. I still dream about it, I can still taste the salt in my tears from how hard I was crying, and yes as I said earlier I'M THE ONE TO BLAME. 

   I go visit my "crazy doctor" four days out of the week, and six on my wild ones. Too bad every time I go it;s the same oh same oh"Mr.Goings it's not your fault, here I'm going to prescribe you some sleeping inducers and anti-depressants. They should help you catch some sleep tonight. They're very strong so be careful, make sure you read and follow ALL directions." After that I'm passed some slips of paper and I set out to enjoy the rest of my miserable day. I feel nothing on the lonely walk to my apartment, until I reach home and I lay down in my bed in nothing but my boxers. Sad isn't it? One big king sized mattress, and my hungry body doesn't even take up 1/3 of it. I spread out stretching my arms and legs getting saddened that I feel nobody when it should be somebody next to me. So I get up and I slowly but surely make my way to my master bathroom, because I have "important" business to handle. As I'm walking I grab something I very well need out of my dresser draw. 

    As I'm rushing to the bathroom I start to think about how Tremese left me, my parents been dead and gone, I never met my grandparents, and the last person I had, my baby brother is dead because of me. So what do I really have to live for? Now I'm panicking, siking out, and just screaming, "GOD WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!" Ironically I receive no answer. Once I finally snapped out of my trance I had awakened to find myself on my bathroom floor with my pistol to the left of me, my medication on the floor between my legs, and a razor blade to the left of me. I'm still asking God "Is thhis what you want?! FINE... I'll do it." So I picked up my pills and I instantly begin to sweat.. I'm debating on which way out would be best fit for me, but I just-I just can't do it. 

     I attempted to capture a grip on my life and thoughts but then my demons crept right back on me, eating away my brain, and stabbing me in my heart. A pain so painful that it made me scream out "OKAY! OKAY!" I scratch the word sorry across my chest in deep big letters and let the blood drip down staining my light and dark blue boxers. I reach for my anti-depressants and I quickly shove all the pills down my throat at once, and I tell myself "Carnard you won't be sad anymore. You get it? You won't be sad anymore." Then I do this almost patronizing laugh as I aim my stainless steel pistol towards the temple of and I start to say my goodbyes:Goodbye world, goodbye Dr. Bullcrap, goodbye good memories, and goddbye any chances of getting into Hea- BOP then... Well you know the rest of what happened. I, Sergeant Carnard Michael Williams was dead.