And I Cry Insanity

And I Cry Insanity

A Story by alice

Perhaps it was how romanticism was falsely connected with war or how he instantly knew that his heroes would do no wrong, commit no crime...


    "I'm broken like glass upon hardwood floor."

"Why do you think that?"

"I believe it's the way I've always been."


    Perhaps it was how romanticism was falsely connected with war or how he instantly knew that his heroes would do no wrong, commit no crime or even consider the possibility of hurting another human being without cause.

    There they stood in statuesque form upon the platform during the opening ceremony, intimidating the new recruits that stared in awe and respect upon their imposing form. Their A- Class uniform was decorated with ribbons and their ranks was proudly placed on their shoulders. These men stood in a line as dictated by their ranks and tradition, these were the heroes of his dreams, the idols he modeled himself after. They were almost like gods among men, and he was not nearly perfect but almost.

    "What do you remember in your dreams?"

"Blood, I remember blood."

"Is there a particular reason why you remember blood?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe that's why I am here, why I am with you."

"Aizen, what else do you dream off other than blood?"


    Remnants of the one hour shooting marathon lay scattered like a shattered painting thrust upon a spike numerous times until nothing of its former glory remained. The thick foliage that hidden him was now only a reminder, a taste of death as an anticipated bullet whizzed closely by; inches above his right ear. The renegade bullet soon after, embedded itself deep into the heart of the man beside him.

    Private Arnold Trevor, medium build and stature was only 21 with a newly wedded bride back home. Trevor enlisted shortly after the broadcast of the war statistics and upon hearing the horrendous news of his fallen countrymen, put away his dreams of becoming a law enforcement officer and took up the greens of the army and grasped onto the dreams of the country.


    "They don't understand." The office was filled with ominous silence as Aizen shifted his position on the couch; he slowly closed his eyes once again and inhaled deeply. He moved his arms to cover his eyes as though shielding them from the blinding rays of the sun.

    "They won't understand unless they experience it themselves."

"When you dream, do you see yourself?"

"My dreams are all in a first person point of view. I see everything but I don't see myself, but I know that I am active participant in my dreams."

    "Do you see yourself killing in your dreams?"
"I see myself running."

"Are you running from something?"


    The night was warm, but every wasted second was agonizing. They were under order to remain and keep their position despite the many odds stacked against them by their enemy. Aizen shifted his cobalt blue eyes toward the chirping of crickets and vaguely wondered if there was a pond nearby and still acutely listening for the signal to move out.

    He remembered his college entrance exams that he took in high school, knowing that he may someday go to college but not right now because his dreams were in the military. He remembered feeling nervous despite knowing full well of what he was going to be tested on. At that time, he wondered why exams were only on certain subjects. Why was life not one of the subjects; where were the skills and knowledge that were learned outside of school? Why were tests only utilized on a very small amount of subject that would never be ingrained in the daily functions of society?


    "When I was a boy, I used to live by a forest. If you go northeast, a few miles from the cabin that I lived in, you would find yourself upon a meadow. My sister loved it there and I would always find her among the many assorted flowers just laying there and staring up at the sky."


    Then he heard it; the soft clicking of two metallic objects that they were issued just the day before. Aizen slowly moved his stiff muscles from the crouching position he retained for hours; wishing to groan out his frustration from the soreness.

    Fred or Freddy as he prefers to be called was like a kitten among bloodthirsty mongrels. His fair complexion, light green eyes and soft brown hair made him look more of a schoolboy than the soldier he was. Freddy enlisted the same time Aizen did and both soon became instant friends. If he would have thought of Freddy, he would say that Freddy was his closest friend despite their brief time together.


    "Sergeant Aizen Tavor is on a long-term stay here."

"What did he do?"


    Expectations of himself thus far had him wallowing in disappointment and mortification. The heroes whom he wished to become were nothing but a false ideology to lead wayward recruits into believing that their idea of justice was crucial. Crucial for what? For humanity.

    Aizen scoffed at this thought. It would be more truthful if they stated that war was crucial for the survival of the fittest. The strong shall prevail and the weak will be cruelly thwarted out. It was almost like hell.

"I saw him." Aizen whispered.



    He was shaking. His wobbling legs soon became jelly beneath the massive weight of his six feet height and slowly found himself on all fours upon the damp stone floor; retching up his insides. He could care less about his regurgitated fluid due to the site of the flowing blood. The sight of the crimson liquid revolted him, the smell tickled his senses, and the mere presence of death sickened him.

    He slowly brought up his fingers to his eyes and felt the water-like substance fall freely like droplets of rain. He wished this to be all a dream. "Freddy…"


    "What is his condition?" Commander Jenkins sternly asked.

"According to his chart, the patient is suffering from mental illness."


    Aizen stiffened as he heard the shrill scream. Where was it?

He clutched his weapon to his chest and huddled deeper into the dark. The reverberating sounds of soldiers boot loudly echoed off the wall and he could feel the aftershock from the sole of the heavy boots indicating that they were coming closer.


    "Sergeant Aizen Tavor meant no harm, your honor. The little girl was not aware of the man's illness."


    He slashed out at them; his arms swinging wildly as they cornered him in the small house that was now reduced to rubbles from the constant firing.


    "Aizen, may I call you Aizen?"

Aizen nodded solemnly as the lawyer disdainfully looked at him.

"On the night that your daughter was murdered, where were you?"


    He was in a cell; assuming that he was a prisoner and that the door was indeed locked. They were ambushed just the night before, but some men managed to get away and if they were lucky, killed during the crossfire.


    "I don't remember." Aizen said, his eyes staring blankly at the man before him.

"Yes you do! You were home and you were there, you killed that innocent little girl."

    "I did not kill her." Aizen's sharp blue eyes dilated before focusing on the blue-suit attorney and his blazing eyes resembled fury deep within.

    "When you found out of you're wife's infidelity, you knew, instantly knew that the child was not yours."

"She was my daughter. Why would I kill her despite knowing that we do not share the same blood!" Aizen angrily spit back.


    The sun slowly set and darkness soon came with the moon slowly rising into the sky " basking everything in a lunar glow. Aizen leaned his head against the cold stonewall and heaved a sigh. The sound in the prison was deathly silent and he, despite his hope, knew he was alone. His comrades and friends were taken long before him to never return. He heard gun shot in the distance but he didn't flinch wishing against all odds to either escape or get killed.


    "At that night of her death, Aizen what were you doing? Were you in your basement sharpening that knife that slit her throat?"


    Aizen crawled his way through the soft, yet decadent swamp. He heard gun fire again, the sound never ceased even if he did manage to survive, he would always remember the sound of guns. He pushed his body under the thick barbwire, scraping his back and tearing his worn green shirt. He crawled some more before rolling down the small ditch and into a muddy pool of blood and rainwater.


    "We find the defendant guilty for first attempt murder of his daughter, Elisa Ann Tavor."


    Aizen heard the sound first but the continuation of screams and bullets made him unsure if it was in fact hearing things. But he wasn't, he gulped down more air and pushed himself up to all fours, then he finally stood. He looked up to the sky and there it was, the chopper. He didn't yell, but instead ran toward where he assumed it was going to land, to the north.


    "I lost everything." Aizen stared at the psychiatrist, unsure if she could understand.

    "Aizen, are you aware of what your condition is?" She calmly asked as she stared at the man before her.

"Paranoia." Aizen just as calmly replied.

    "You are suffering from mental illness brought on by your past. Where you ever abused?"

"As a child? No, but if you saw what I saw, witness the events before your eyes. You go insane too."

Aizen smirked, but his eyes remained dull.

© 2011 alice

Author's Note

This is an old-story I wrote for a class, cross posted at FP.

My Review

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How your words stir up such a deep, rich imagery... all painted in blood red... Everything works together so smoothly... powerfully... the voices lingering in the remains of the day... Love your form and flow.

Posted 7 Years Ago

I definitely liked it. I liked the detail and the set up. How it shifts back and forth between the past and present. I like how the story is unpredictable. I was afraid that it was going to be the usual war story crap but it was very good. I definitely think you are better than what you think and others feel. This is your casual case of some not understanding the not so obvious complexity of writing something like this.

Posted 8 Years Ago

My favourite have to be the first three: I'm going to have to keep them, it's how I feel sometimes. Without the rest, they're heartbreaking.

Posted 9 Years Ago

An original masterpiece. The only thing I would like to comment on is this line:

"As a child? No...before your eyes. You go insane too."

I think it'd be more touching if it was: "If you saw what I saw, witnessed the events before your eyes, you'd go insane too."

Posted 9 Years Ago

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4 Reviews
Added on October 12, 2010
Last Updated on February 5, 2011
Tags: PTSD, vietnam




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