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Monday, 12 December 2011

Blog 35: Injections of Heroism

I’m twitching now, quivering. I’ve got the shakes and it’s not because of the crowd. There’s a few thousand people watching this stupid ceremony and all I can think about is the next injection. Where are they hiding it? The guards behind me don’t know. The General behind them might know. I could easily kill them both to get to him. The twitch would just mean that the cuts were less clean.
My hand keeps asking me to unsheathe the sword and kill everyone. I could possibly pull it off. If I killed them all there’s a chance that I would find a few vials, enough to keep me going. Nah that wont work. I’d better play along.
They’re roaring in their thousands, calling me a hero and until they’ve stopped, until this is over I can’t get another dose. It’s not like I even give a shit about our stupid little country. I fight because I’m on the drug and because it’s the greatest feeling ever. I hate thinking about what I do when I’m thinking straight but luckily that isn’t very often. They keep me tanked up for days at a time while I tear through the enemy conquering new ground for my dealers. I cut a bloody path through entire armies on my own and them some pompous git with a few stripes plants a flag in the ground and declares victory. I’m not even on contract, only my addiction binds me to this to this endless cycle of nonsense.
My life right now is ridiculous. How did they turn someone with a tendency towards addiction into a hero of the nation? I come in and they tell me that they have the cure to addiction to adrenalin and I say thank you, where do I sign? I didn’t sign of course, they knew that wouldn’t be necessary.
He’s here, the poncy general with the fancy blue suit jacket and all of the little badges and medals. Most of those useless pieces of fabric and metal are there because of me. He’s not a soldier, not really, he’s a con artist with a gun for an accessory. The drug’s were the convincer in this scheme and this celebration is the payoff. One of many payoffs, not the first or the last.
They’re so smug, so convinced they have me where they want me. They barely acknowledge my prowess in battle with fear. I hate them all and yet they breathe so freely. I could kill them now. Could but wont, they do have me, it’s why I hate them with such intensity. I can’t fight it but the addiction will override my better judgement. It’s started. The twitching and the visions, visions of death and destruction. Usually my visions are prophetic, calculations soon to see fulfilment. These calm tricksters had better hope the images flickering behind my eyelids now do now come true. If they do I will not be a hero, not seen as one. If I do as I think I will be seen in the light of day for what I truly am. I am a killer with a substance abuse issue. None of that will matter if I get my hands on another dose. Bring me battle, I need a break from my conscience.

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