The Story of Gary

A sad story, one filled with sadness

I wish my story was a happy one, but sadly it is not. This is the story of one boy in a world of terrible circumstance. Young Gary was a astute young man, far older than his 14 year old body made him seem. You see, Gary was poor. Not poor in spirit, but rather lacking in material wealth, and this lacking is a result of the tyrant that ruled his nation. You see, before he came to power, his family was comfortably middle class, not two refrigerator middle class, but comfortable. All that was gone now, and Gary and his family lived in a small two room house, run down, filthy. Despite the obvious reasons to stress when one is in a situation such as this, his family didn’t stress. They remained happy and jovial because their family was still together.

But that would change too. One day, a man in a uniform came marching up their front door and demanded Gary, and his brother Kevin, join the country’s brutal military. Unable to resist, Gary found himself in the back of a cattle truck with his brother, watching their two room house disappear over the horizon. A myriad of strange men sat with him. All stank of sweat and blood. Gary huddled next to his older brother, wide eyed and tensed. Nobody spoke, but some looked at Gary with a sense of foreboding that turned the contents of his stomach. The road turned from dirt to asphalt and then back again. Gary found himself surrounded by the gorgeous landscape of his homeland. Tall mountains covered in beautiful pine trees soaring high into the air, giving off an impressive vibe. Gary stared at these trees and felt, for the only time in this story, a hope for the future.

The truck halted, with a immense grunt, and the man who had taken him from his home ordered him out. The men lined up in front of a man with a hat, a hat which Gary knew from newspapers made that man very important. Kevin lined up behind Gary, and tried to whisper some words of hope, but they became lost as the man in the hat shouted.

“Congratulations! You are now a part of the glory that is our state! You are the defenders of our holy doctrine! From this moment on you are no longer to be concerned with the past. You will be given a new name, a new life, and training in service to the state. And when you look upon the face of our Tetrearch -”, a word which here means great leader, “- You will feel thankful. Anyone who denies the glory he has brought us shall be dealt with. You will report to a commandant for your barrack assignment and training course.”

The lines dispersed, and soon new lines formed amongst a row of desks. Gary, and Kevin, simply lined up at the closest one. Now, at this point, one may hope they find someone sympathetic to their plight, and may go so far as to reunite them with their family, but sadly this is a pointless hope. The man behind the desk was mean, by every definition. Sharp, beady eyes, with a shaved head and chiseled jawline, built like a quarterback, clasping at his pen with what one could only call anger.

“Name?”

“Uh, Gary.”

“Last name?” He shot, spitting slightly in his face.

“Gary Apple.”

“Gary Apple?” The man looked up in disgust.

“Y-yes.” He spoke, nerves building.

“That’s a stupid name. Barrack 3-C.” He said, sinking back into his papers.

Gary, scared of being alone, looked for his brother amongst the hustle of the military base. In one of the only things to go right in weeks, he found him. However, it was then he discovered that they won’t be bunking together. So, Gary, not knowing what else to do, simply walked over to his barrack and looked around. The place was filthy, even by his standards, with several extremely grisly men laying in various positions around the bunk. The only one who looked like he had life in him approached Gary, asking him his name and where he was from and appeared quite cordial, only to discover the man was trying to sell him narcotics.

He went over to his cot, as was assigned on the paper the angry man gave him, to discover a thin fabric stretched over a bent and rusted metal frame. A single wet sack hung on one end, apparently standing in place of a pillow. He sat gently on the metal frame, thinking to himself. His bunk mates were less than desirable, and his bunk reeked with alcohol despite his country’s strict ban. It seemed to Gary that this country banned everything fun. He missed his mother's singing, but after the tyrant banned public displays of “dangerous” art she couldn’t risk it.

He woke with a start, as scratchy loudspeaker blared the nations national anthem. The men jumped up and stood at attention. To Gary, this was completely out of character for the group of drunkards, so he decided to follow their lead. A short fat man with a shiny bald head, accompanied by two armed guards, stumbled into the barrack. The man took a second to try and gather himself, before strutting down the line of stinking men. He looked each of them up and down, before stopping in front of Gary. The man contorted his face, and released a filthy stinking belch straight into Gary’s nostrils. One of the men laughed, so a guard turned and fired a round into his knee. He yelped and dropped, before getting a swift kick in the ribs by the second guard.

“Get him out of my sight,” barked the bald man. The two guards picked up the moaning man and dragged him out of the barrack. “All of you! You are all due for weapons training in building W-2.”

Gary, and the rest, turned to leave, only to receive a swift slap. “What the f**k is your problem!” yelled the man, “All of you!” The men looked between each other confused. “You stupid fuckheads. Are you all really that stupid?” He barked, looking at the room. “Alright,” he balled up Gary’s shirt, “You have as long as he’s conscious out to figure out what was wrong with that.” He threw Gary across the barrack, several men ducking out of the way. The bald man began to pound his fists all across his body. Each shattering blow dazed Gary. In the brief moments between impacts, he weakly looked across the barrack to find no one would make eye contact with him. As he began to pass out, he thought of his family. He missed them more now than before. Where was his brother, the only member of the family to stand up for him? This was his last thought before he lost consciousness.

Reviews

[Riley Rydin]

This story was initially hard to read, but it's unique style and canter became easily recognizable and fluid to follow by the second paragraph. Once I got a grip on the chaotic and brash style of storytelling, I was brought along on a very unique ride of anguish and black comedy.

[Daddy Is Home]

This story really grabbed my attention and I couldn't stop until it ended. Great job!! Although the story is amazing itself the first paragraph was kind of a battle to read, but I did love the way you described the middle class. Can't wait to read more~

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