Sunday, July 15, 2012

The Cliche`


While reading through the Minot chapters I came across the section about Clichés. He expressed how too many clichés in any type of work would simply destroy it, especially a poem. So the rebel in me had a split second idea, “What if I wrote a poem using nothing but clichés?” I laughed it off and went back to reading. Pages later the idea continued to creep back into my mental vision, and again I blinked it away. But then I thought what if I used solely clichés but inverted them? Welcome to the mind of Reggie…





I count my curses for my blessing fell down in the dumps

Like a bat out of heaven, but if a bird in hand is worth two birds on a cactus

Then I’m all third fingers up- but tomorrow is the same day

There is a flickering light in the center of the tunnel

With my ears to the sky, an eye-for-an-I

It must be the luck of the American.



Wide awake last morning, I cried a lake last mourning

Curiosity killed my road dog, as my eyes cried crocodile sweat

Hail storms on my parade, Bloody red carpet treatment disguised in blue suede

The nice guy never finished, nerves of wood-opening Pandora’s app

Searching for my third wind feeling sharp as a tic…

I stopped on a nickel to taste the roses, and wished upon an asteroid.



Sliding across frozen bridges, busy as a wasp

Something is floating in my stomach

I reckon it’s a moth

I made my bed and told lies in it

Hey, every dog has his night

The ground is my only limit… it was tacky meeting you here



Free as a caged bird, that sings with a toad in his throat

Prince vulgar I beg to agree, just mark my verbs.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Test Message

I'm just posting this entry to test the mobile app of Blogger. It had very bad reviews, I guess I'm just hoping it will work for my simple ol blog. :)

Monday, June 11, 2012

Dear Writing,

     I miss you. I miss the moments we shared. The feelings I experienced everytime we touched. The conversations we had. The late nights of trading thoughts and making love on thin sheets of college ruled paper or blank Microsoft Word screens. I miss the cuddling afterwards where I felt as if these moments would never end. But they did...

     Lately, I've been lazy. I haven't contacted you in what feels like decades. I still think about you, and what we could have had, but my lack of energy and motivation restricted me from chasing you. Honestly, I stopped because I am truly afraid of you. I'm afraid of failure of course, but what we had and the potential of success was intimidating. I'm afraid things will go right... How crazy is that?

     You're probably thinking that I am just saying this as a poetic excuse and that the truth is I'm afraid of commitment. That may be the case as well. But I need to find myself and become more focused on our future if we stand any chance at all. I'm sorry for my absence.

Can we start over?

                                                                                                                                    -Reggie
P.S. I Love You...

Thursday, January 26, 2012

What makes me so different?



“What makes me so different?”
That’s what I often ask myself when I start day dreaming of becoming this famous writer that people will remember for decades on end. I picture myself walking through an airport and middle aged women will come up to me and say, “I just love your latest novel. It truly spoke to me.” I picture giving speeches and universities and telling stories of how I became so successful. I can hear myself giving typical clichés of a person who has made it big, “Don’t give up. All it takes is hard work.” Sometimes during long joyrides I mute the radio, or I pause the CD, and I interview myself. I picture myself on Late Night TV shows, and the audience goes absolutely wild when I walk out onto the stage. I have a Man of the Year acceptance speech already finished in my head. I picture my kids bragging in grade school lunch rooms about their Writer Dad. I see myself going to career days, and kids are actually interested in my profession. I picture myself as a writer… But what makes me so different?
                How am I different from the other millions of aspiring writers who share the same daydreams as I? How am I different from the load of failed writers who just never made it in the business? How am I different from the lady who quit her job as a nurse to stay home and write full time? How could I match her dedication? How can I improve my dedication? What makes me so different that I can actually make it as a writer? How can I stand out among a population of novelist who want the same thing I’m reaching for?
                I fear that I am not different, I am not special, talented, gifted, or even an average writer. How dare I have the audacity to chase a dream in the midst of a million other marathoners who are better prepared, better trained, and better qualified to win this race. What makes me so different?

Friday, January 20, 2012

Speechless

                                                                Speechless



They rolled me into a dimly lit room that somehow resembled a big elevator. All of the Doctors and nurses were moving so quickly, and I really didn’t understand what the big deal was. It was nothing major in my book. We were just kids being kids; a simple fight that turned bad with the use of a pellet gun. The shot in my neck pissed me off more than it hurt, so I didn’t realize the severity of the wound till I came into the emergency room.

“Ok, we have a throat injury from a pellet gun, and we suspect swelling.” said the lead Doctor. I’m guessing he was in charge because he was the only person in the room who seemed to remain calm. He examined the entry wound as he leaned over my shoulder. I could smell the strong aroma of his after shave and diet Coke from the short distance he was standing. I wondered why all doctors were old; could medical school really be that long?

“Reggie, how are you feeling?” I nodded my head, which really didn’t answer the question but he understood. After all he had experienced forty years of Med school so I’m sure he comprehended.

“Great. Son we are going to have to perform surgery to make sure nothing was seriously damaged. We fear that the tissue may begin to swell, and if that happens you will not be able to breathe. It’s a simple procedure and you will be out of here in no time. Ok?” Once again I nodded my head. I really didn’t want to speak. At first when I got shot nothing changed, but after a while my voice began to sound funny. It was as if I was speaking in a bathroom. My words had a weird echo and sounded distorted. I wasn’t even going to go to the hospital, but once my mom got word what happen she rushed me in the emergency room and acted out a scene from ‘John Q’.

 “Reggie, I’m going to put this mask on you. I just need you to take deep breaths and relax.” The doctor said as he lifted my head up to secure the straps of the mask. I don’t know why I expected the mask to smell funny, but it didn’t, and the air that circulated through was awkwardly cool. I tilted my head towards the doctor who was instructing one of the nurses to roll over a tray.

“What is this?” I asked while frowning at the way my voice sounded to me.

 “It’s gas.” The doctor said in such a nonchalant tone. Suddenly my panic mode kicked in. Just the sound of the word gas frightened me. While I was reaching for the mask one of the nurses restrained my arm.
 “Just relax Reggie, you’ll be sleep soon.” She said in such an angelic voice. Was having a soothing voice the criteria for becoming a nurse, so you can calm the patient while he’s being put to sleep like a rabid animal? I tried to lean forward, I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. My eye lids felt heavy like I had anvils on my lashes. As my body sunk deeper into the stretcher, I wanted to yell, I even opened my mouth to scream but I couldn’t… I was speechless.

A tsunami of consciousness waved through my body, as I sat up like a child who was just baptized. The first thing I noticed was all the tubes that were plugged into my body. I felt like the project of Frankenstein or a cheap entertainment system. I began to panic once again as I snatched the iv out of my arm and yanked like I was starting a lawn mower. A small puddle of blood formed and began to gain momentum as it cascaded down my arm. Glancing at my other arm, my neck felt stiff and restricted. I rubbed my throat and felt a small metal pipe inserted. I collapsed back into the cheap pillow that was provided. As I was feeling the metal tube, I also noticed a rubber tube that traced to my nostrils. I automatically thought it was a breathing tube so I snatched it. What I thought to be half an inch turned out to be deeper. My stomach turned cartwheels and my chest began to arch. I didn’t understand what was going on, probably still in shock, so I continued to tug. The pain caused my chest to arch even higher. I relaxed and allowed my body to deflate. As I glanced down at my progress I saw blood and chunks for which I told myself were clots of flesh. My panic meter exploded as I gripped the tube in preparation to get it over with. I waited till my heartbeat was no longer beating through my hospital gown, then I snatched it. I felt the tube as it slid from my stomach to my nostrils bringing along vomit and more blood. I leaned on my side and puked what felt to be my stomach out. After the vomiting seized, I lay there gasping for air and spitting out residue and tears that escaped my eyes and fled to my mouth. Finally when the tears stopped along with the excess saliva, I wiped my face with the pillow case and sat up. I was still bothered by the metal tube in my throat, but I dared not tamper with that one. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew I had to get out of that hospital. I felt lied to.

“A simple procedure, you’ll be out of here in no time.” The doctor lied. As I tried to stand I felt yet another restraint; this time in my penis. My eyes turned to Volkswagen headlights as I felt the remaining tube. My only thought was that I didn’t do all of that for nothing, I had to finish.

My eyes were watching God as I grasped the final tube. I didn’t want to snatch this one, so I decided to just ease it out. I clawed the edge of the bed as my penis felt like it was on fire. I stopped for a second to regain my strength and motive to continue. I went for the kill and pulled harder. What I felt next was a pain unmatched, that made the nostril tube feel like a Q-tip. I fell off the edge of the bed and screamed like an amateur actress in a horror movie as I knocked over the iv machine. I laid there wondering if I had actually got it out. Either way it was pointless because I no longer had the energy to escape.

“Oh my god Reggie what have you done?”  The nurse shouted as she responded to the commotion. She stood over me with her palms covering her mouth. At that moment I became scared. My body trembled like a Chihuahua surrounded by horny pit bulls. She was staring at me as if I had ripped my penis off. I reached for it to make sure, but she stopped me.

“Now we have to put everything right back in. Reggie why did you do this to yourself?” The nurse asked as she helped me back on the bed.

“This is going to hurt…” she said with a pitiful face as she began to slide the tube back into my penis. It hurt and stung fiercely but not as much as it did coming out. Now the nostril tube was a different story. As soon as she inserted the tip into my nose my body jumped at least a foot. She put her arm across my chest to restrain me, but it was very little she could do. Another nurse rushed in to assist her in holding me down.
“Let me know if at any point you can’t breathe, ok Reggie?” the first nurse asked as she continued to slide the tube through my nose and into my throat. I shook my head violently like I was experiencing an exorcism as tears flung from my body like a bathed dog.

“Reggie can you breathe?” the second nurse asked.  I wanted to answer; I needed to tell her that I couldn’t. I opened my mouth but no sound came out. I was speechless…

"Reggie... Reggie can you hear me baby?" minus the pain pulsating through my entire my body I felt relaxed by the nurse calling me baby. Maybe after all of the suffering I endured I'd now be the victim of a playboy short story. With my eyes still closed I smiled at this teenage fantasy.

"Reggie, baby can you hear me hun? This is your mother." so much for that article huh. My eyelids lifted slowly like garage doors. I re-smiled at the site of mother. She returned the body language with a sense of relief. I tried to sit up but she put her hand on my shoulder and instructed me to just relax. I complied and my smile faded once I realized that the tubes were back in my body. I tried to speak but it felt as if something was in my throat blocking my words from coming out. I couldn’t even grunt or hum. My eyes translated that I was about to enter panic mode. My mother put one finger to my lips and told me to shhh. I was beginning to get angry at my failed attempts. I wanted to bite her finger off.

"Reggie, I have to tell you something. Now I want you to listen carefully and don’t get crazy on me. Your vocal cords were slightly damaged so right now you can’t speak..." she stopped and dropped her head for a second. I knew the haymaker was coming next. I didn’t have time to try to guess so i waited as she raised her head and stared me in my eyes. A pool of tears had begun to fill up her reservoir and i knew the dam would break any moment now.

"Baby, they said there is a strong possibility that you will never talk again." my dam beat hers to the punch and she instantly tried to console me.
"Baby don’t lose hope just yet, don’t give up on me Reggie. They said a possibility and that could go both ways. Don’t give up hope.  Have faith in god and he will bring you through this. Just pray, cause we are all praying for you. Baby... it doesn’t end like this." I wasn’t in the mood to hear any of that. i was just told that i will never be able to speak again. Oh, I’m sorry, there’s a possibility. I knew that was just verbal medicine doctors tell the family of the victim to instill false hope. I turned my head away from my mom and faced the wall. All i could think about was how was i going to communicate for the rest of my life. Was i going to have to moan like the elders do in rest homes requesting Jello? Or even worse, was I going to have to use that robotic device that chain smokers of forty years use? My thoughts were killing me. Trust in God... God? Could he give me my voice back? Would he? Of course not. What was the purpose of taking it in the first place then? To teach me a lesson? I wasn’t in the mood to become some biblical puppet or a source of a frantic testimony in church. I was mad at the world and the worst part was I couldn’t tell a soul. In the middle of my hissy fit, my silent temper tantrum at God, my mother placed a writing tablet on my shoulder. i turned my head slowly allowing anger tears to commit suicide down my cheeks. I glanced at the tablet and then back at her; my face was a billboard advertising confusion.  My mom handed me a pen and said "talk to me... tell me how you feel... write it." I smirked at the fact that even in my lowest moments my mother could still make me smile.

Our convos through paper went on for days. I didn’t remember talking to her that much when I had a voice but we seemed to go through two tablets. Soon I became used to this means of communication and actually pictured myself walking around with a miniature tablet to converse. I was accepting my fate, though I didn’t really understand it, I was beginning to live with it. My temporary happiness expired when my mother handed me the phone one night. My eye brows arched to the McDonalds logo as I wondered why she would hand me the phone as if I could really reply back to whoever was up there.

"Just listen for a sec. your grandma wants to speak to you." my mom said has she assisted me in raising the phone to my ear. "Go ahead momma, he’s listening."

"Reggie? This is grandma. I know you can’t speak right now, but i just wanted you to know that I love you and I’m praying for you; we are all praying for you. You are in everyone’s thoughts and prayers. You just trust in God and he will bring you through this. Have faith baby. God is a mighty god and capable of anything, and he loves you dearly... we all love you dearly..."
I shifted the phone to my other ear so i could hide my face from my mother. The mayor of my eyes had just received a warning that the twin dams were on the brink of collapsing once again.
"Baby just hold on, and when times get rough, when you feel like nobody understands what you’re going through, when the doctors and nurses don’t seem to have a clue, talk to God. We can’t hear you right now but he can. God can hear you Reggie. Talk to him. We love you Reggie. "
The dams broke. Tears shot down my face and I used a pillow as a silencer. The worst part about not being able to speak was not being able to tell my grandmother "i love you too." I buried my face into the pillow to the point I almost suffocated. i wanted to say something back to grandma; anything, just to let her know that i heard her, that I still existed. Maybe if I dialed I love you through the keypad... 456-8396 with U as the extension. Silly thoughts flooded my brain along with back fired tears. I wanted to say something, I needed to, but I couldn’t. I opened my mouth and nothing came out. Not even the cartoon flag that read BANG. I was speechless...


I woke up in the middle of the night to the quiet but annoying hospital orchestra. iv machines dripped, heart machines beeped, in tune with breathing machines... well, breathing. Once my eyes were awake and adjusted to the poor lighting, I noticed just how lonely this place was. When visiting hours are over every patient goes into the same condition; emotionally dead, and in my case socially as well. I couldn’t even talk to myself. It seemed as if my brains secretary had lost records of what my voice sounded like. So I had a mental tablet that I wrote on just to get my thoughts out. I focused on what my grandmother said, "Talk to god. When nobody else can hear you, he still can." or something like that. I needed to fire my brains secretary, memory, if I could ever remember to do so. I figured that since the doctors had given up on me it wouldn’t hurt to try god. At least after that I could honestly say I exhausted all options. So I called on god. I lay there on my back with my arms crossed and stared at the ceiling. My eyes went through and focused on the stars. I connected them in a pattern that I thought was a passcode that would allow me to speak to the all mighty. I called but there was no answer. I thought maybe i had called on the wrong name so I tried Jesus’s line, and then Lord's, messiah's, the guy up stairs, creator, Bruce almighty, still no answer. So I left a message.
"God, if you give me my voice back, i promise you this, the whole world will hear me" I kept it short and simple. I figured he was getting a lot of calls from this hospital anyways, so I didn’t take up too much of his precious time.

Once my eyes retracted back from the ceiling, I quickly glanced around the room. Surely a nurse would think I was going Looney if she saw me staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night. Or maybe they see a lot of that. A smirk charged up on my face when i thought about I just did and the crazy thoughts that I produced. It was funny to me but i wasn’t able to laugh. That action required voice. But my body wanted to, I was in dire need of a good chuckle. I felt a laugh building up in my gut and climbing to my throat. I began to choke a little, the same feeling I got when it was time to clean my trach out of flem. I leaned on my side and starting coughing. I tried to keep it quiet so I wouldn’t alert any nurses and disturb them from reading their () magazines. Wait, quiet? I was making noise! Speaking is only the controlled act of making noise. I quickly rolled back on my back and smiled. I had a change of mind so I rolled back to my side. Maybe this position was the key to the process. I built pressure up in my throat and tried to release it. I was hoping for any noise, any at all, even a grunt. Nothing. I tried again, nothing. I tried again, nothing. Again... speechless. And again, till my throat felt like it would explode and my trach go flying through the ceiling. Wait, the ceiling... I rolled over and concentrated. How did i use to talk? I tried to remember the simple procedure of speaking. I couldn’t remember, damn secretary. So I just lay there and tried to clear my throat. I tried over and over. Then it happened.

Nobody truly remembers their first word, but I do. My first word was " unh". Followed by a few utters of celebration profanity. I was smiling so hard that you could probably see my wisdom teeth. So I lay there again on that pillow which I was sure the same pillow I lost my voice on, and I began to speak, quietly of course. My voice sounded like heaven to me. I defied odds and did what the doctors said I wouldn’t be able to do. All by myself, and of course God. I smiled as these thoughts that I was actually saying out loud now.  I wanted to tell someone but whom? So I waited. Visiting hours would start in a couple hours.

I stayed in the same position for hours that felt like days trying my best to suppress my smile as my mother in the room.
"Good morning baby." she said as she rubbed my forehead with both sides of her hand. I guess even in hospitals mothers will still play doctor.

"How are you feeling today, better?" she asked as she reached for the tablet on the nightstand. She handed it to me along with the pen and waited on my reply. I held the tablet in front of my face to hide my wisdom teeth as I pretended to write an answer. Then I handed her back the blank tablet. She glanced at it and then back at me with a puzzled look. I charged my throat up and fired.
"I’m doing fine mama, how are you?" I said with the biggest smile my facial muscles would allow. Her hands dashed to her mouth as she dropped the tablet. She began to stumble backwards and collapsed in the visitors chair with her hands still covering her mouth. I sat up to see if she was ok. I feared that I had possibly given her a heart attack. But she just stared at me with watery eyes soaking through her fingertips.
"Momma, are you ok?" I asked in my most worried voice. She didn’t reply. She just stared at me crying. She was speechless...

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

By The Way...

The plane lifted off the runway and into the air. The person next to you turns and quietly whispers in your ear, “I know I’m supposed to keep this a secret, but I absolutely must tell someone.”


                Three and a half hours till Washington. Three and a half hours till I’m free and away from this strange smelling citizen who just happened to be seated next to me. Three and a half hours of catching glances of his dirty blonde short and adult acne infested face decorated with the ugliest pair of shades ever Made in China. And of course, three and a half hours till I’m released and off duty away from his cheap Axe body spray and heavily starched button shirt; oh the horror.
                Almost on cue, he started talking. I made my bathroom trip early in hopes that I could peacefully sleep the remainder of the flight. I guess in attempts to ‘1 up me’ he took one as well. When he returned, before he could even buckle back in, he leaned over and whispered something into my ear.
“I know I’m supposed to keep this a secret, but I absolutely must tell someone. I have a bomb in my carry-on luggage… so I hope you didn’t make any plans for the rest of the day. By the way my name is Lance.” He said and faded back into position with an evil grin. I sat speechless and just stared at him while my brain interpreted what my ear drums had just received. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, my eyes even failed to acknowledge the nature of blinking. I just sat there with pupils of stone and a physique to match.
“Oh, and in case you’re feeling heroic, I’ve already predicted that. So while you were in the little boys room freshening up, I slipped a paralyzing poison into you’re lovely cup of Sprite. Tasty eh?” He said with the most demonic grin I’ve ever seen outside of a Steven Spielberg scene. I didn’t know exactly what I was feeling or if I was actually feeling anything at all, but I knew I had to do something; I couldn’t just sit here a die with the only intelligence available to stop a current terrorist attack.
                The guy just leaned back in his chair and acted as if he had merely told me the time of day. It was written on his face that he was ready to die for his cause. But there was one problem… I wasn’t.
                After I built up enough energy within my concrete muscles, I somehow leaned over into his ear catching him fully off guard.
                “There’s something I should tell you as well. The flight attendant initially gave me the wrong drink… I drink Seirra mist…”
                The shock in his eyes was priceless. That very moment, I spoke for everyone on board, everyone against terrorism, everyone on land with loved ones who have lost their lives or would potentially lose theirs now. I spoke for souls of lost Soldiers, Marines, Airmen, Navy seamen, and anyone who has every stood up, or spoke up, against terrorism… and it felt lovely.
                “By the way, my name is Air Marshal Clemmons…”

Friday, October 28, 2011

Boot Camp *Scene 1*

I apologize, but without reading Chapter 1, there will be a few areas in this scene where you will feel lost. So when you get to a part that makes you go "HUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHH?" just ignore it. :)
This is Chapter 2, Scene 1 from my Short Story collection titled 'The Airman Who Couldn't Fly'. So up to this point, I have just arrived at Lackland for the first night, after quick shipping into the USAF. I was supposed to go to the Navy, but had a last minute change of... Heart. I hope you enjoy, and please leave feedback.





          “Drop your bags trainees!!!!!!” a deafening voice shouted. It was a group of guys all dressed in what I thought were Army camouflage with huge outlandish looking hats. For a split second I thought the recruiter pulled a fast one and was at the wrong boot camp. We were all tired from the flight over, which was the first time I’ve ever been on an airplane in my life. It was a weird but thrilling experience. I never realized how fast the planes have to go just to take off, and the feeling of knowing, from this altitude, surviving a crash was unthinkable. Of course I had a window seat with the tranquil view of being inside a cloud.
            We were now in San Antonio, Texas, the last place I imagined that I would end up. The Navy’s boot camp was somewhere near Chicago, and for some reason I figured that all branches were in the exact area; or maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. Everything just seemed to be happening so fast, and whenever I found a second to stop and take some of the reality in, it felt surreal. So much had changed in the last few hours of my life, and now I was standing under a hangar in Texas with 29 other lost souls. A lot of the guys had multiple bags and I immediately felt bad for their arms. Our first tasks were to pick up our bags, drop them, pick them back up, drop them, and repeat steps 1-2. I was circumstantially prepared for this with my singled bag that weighed merely 10lbs, but most guys around me were breaking out in sweats chugging their jam-packed duffle bags over their shoulders.
            Finally we were escorted inside an auditorium with no chairs and instructed to wait. I was dead tired, since I didn’t get any sleep on the flight over; I was too busy taking it all in. I smoked my last cigarette outside of the airport before the 30 minute bus ride over, and I was already itching for another one. At this point I realized how lost I actually was. I had no idea what to expect out of Air Force boot camp; I didn’t even know how long it lasted. What happens if I fail? What happens if I pass? Hopefully my internal questions would be answered here shortly, but for the time being I decided to catch a nap.
            Voices collaged around me as I rested my head on my single bag. Some people were standing in corners, but the majority of us were scattered across the floor. It felt like hours passed and I knew it had to be at least midnight. I was trying to go to sleep but thoughts as well as outside conversations kept me conscious. Earlier two of the instructors came in and pointed at me while mumbling between each other. Initially I thought that maybe Officer Miller had found me and was reneging on our/his verbal deal. I quickly shook that idea out of my head, but I still had no clue what they were saying about me. After about a minute of low chatter and head nods, they vanished down the hallway. I knew that I had not messed up already, but maybe it was my bags or lack of. Voices continued to surround me as I stared at the back of my eyelids.
            “Where is he?”

             So if I do graduate where will I go next? I’ve never seen an Air Force base, but I knew there was an Army post in Fayetteville, N.C. What if I got stationed near home? How would I explain everything that has happened to my old peers, and worst of all Miller.

             “Make a hole, let us through.”

              I wonder what my Mom will say when I call her and tell her that I’m in Texas in Air Force boot camp. She’ll probably faint. My Mother was against me joining the military, especially after 9/11. She expressed how she didn’t want me dying in a white man’s war. But I’m sure she’d rather me risk my life trying to better myself, than dying pointlessly in the streets.

              “I said move out of my way Trainee.”

               My eyes were still closed as I lay on my half full bag thinking of the pride I could potentially bring my Mother. In the background I could still hear an aggravated voice and it was getting closer to my position. A slight kick to my shoe interrupted my day dream.
            “Boy you better have slipped yourself into a coma or worse to be laying there ignoring me!” I heard this statement, and I knew exactly what was going on, but I prayed that the instructor was talking to the guy next to me. I peaked to get confirmation and almost jumped out of my skin. There were now three instructors standing over me, two with their arms crossed and one leaning down inches from my face.
            “Ohhhhhhh welcome back to Earth Neil Armstrong, did you find freaking water on Mars!?” The clean shaved white figure said to me. Surely I wasn’t in trouble for sleeping; half of the people around had been dozing off.
            “Get up!” The figure of authority shouted as he stepped back with the two other instructors. I knew I had to obey orders if I planned on staying here, so I began to gather my things and stood up. I didn’t know what position I was suppose to stand in, so I just held my bag in my left hand and kept my free hand to my side. I thought I did well.
            “Too slow… Do it again.” The middleman said. All three had their arms crossed now as they stared through me.
            “Do what again?” I asked ignorantly, and instantly all three instructors were in my face.
            “Do what again Sir!” The lead man shouted. I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly, so I replied stupidly once again.
            “Huuuuuuuuuh?” I asked with a confused face. Before I could get my fifth ‘U’ out the instructor standing to the right of me stepped even closer with demonic eyes.
            “Boy I don’t know if you are really that dumb or if you’re just messing with us, but either option, you better smarten up real quick!” I decided not to respond this time and just make what I felt was respectful eye contact. This time the instructor on my far left dashed about an inch from my lips.
            “Are you sizing up my colleague? Please tell me that you’re not! If you have something on your chest then now is the time to get it out! If not then you will respond from now on with Sir!” I remained quiet and now focused my eyes on him. Following the suit of the yelling pattern, the lead instructor was now in my face.
            “I said… get down… and do it again!” He spat. I responded with a low “Yes Sir” and got down on my stomach.
            “You weren’t on your belly when we came in were you? Lay on your back like you were. Go ahead and cross your pretty little legs and relax like you were.” The lead said. I did as I was told and laid on my back; I wasn’t sure if my legs were even crossed when they came in but I did it anyways. I knew I wasn’t in any position to debate with these guys.
            “Now get up.” I glanced around and all of the other trainees were now staring at me. Again I did as I was told and stood to my feet.
            “Not quick enough do it again.” At this point I chuckled, and that was the worst thing I could possibly do in this situation.
            “OH MY FREAKING GOD! He thinks this is all a joke!” The lead said. As he stepped closer I was already on my way back down to repeat the previous order but I tripped over his boot and fell flat on my bag. I expected to hear a roar of laughter from the bystanders but everyone was too afraid to laugh; maybe I was the only idiot in the group. When I opened my eyes I saw the lead instructor within kissing distance of my face.        
            “Look here trainee, I want you to listen and listen closely. You are now staring at gates, now whether they are gates to the Air Force, or gates to Hell, that is all up to your actions. I suggest you learn where you’re at and adjust your attitude accordingly.” He said as he and his team began to walk off. He suddenly turned around and yelled to me.
            “Oh and by the way, you’re now the Dorm Chief. Congratulations…” He said with an evil smile. My head was still hurting along with my pride, but I still pulled myself up into an upright position. The only question in my mind at the moment was “What is a Dorm Chief?” Surely it could not be anything good from my recent performance.