by M Purcell
I had felt evil. I felt it when it comes in.....the Wave.
Chapter 2: P.F.C., Anthony J. Pruitt, 1946-1971
A police investigation turned up that the gunman really was a marine. He was Private First Class, Anthony J. Pruitt, United States Marine Corps. It would only be fair to Mr. Pruitt to tell of the circumstances that led up to the crime that would put an end to his tormented mind. He had enlisted in the Marines shortly after the Vietnam war broke out. He was an honor student in high school and a very patriotic young man. He felt it his duty to enlist in the Marines, and fight for his country. He almost immediately got the English Bulldog tattoo with the words "Semper Fidelis" beneath it. The English Bulldog was deeply rooted in the Marine Corps. During WWII, the Germans referred to the Marine Corps as "teufel hunden", meaning "devil dogs," undoubtedly referring to their fighting ability. Marines are known to have a fierce almost fanatical loyalty to their duty. They are one of the most highly respected fighting forces on earth. "Semper Fidelis" is ... Translated from Latin; "Always Faithful."
Just after one month in Vietnam, he was captured along with two of his comrades in arms. After waking to find himself naked and strapped down to a table. He saw his two comrades, one to his left and the other to his right. Both were strapped to a table, just as he was, and both were dead. There was a large pool of crimson red blood under each table, entrails dangling from their sides, lying on the floor beneath them. He could see a hole about the size of a mans fist in the side of the corpse to his right. "You are awake, GI Joe, good," a Viet Cong soldier was standing in front of him. The man was standing under a single light bulb, hanging from the ceiling by a thick cord. He stood just in front of the light, so as his features could not be seen, a faceless talking shadow-man.
"You will tell me where your troops are located, yes GI Joe?," a puff of smoke billowed up around his head from an unseen cigarette in his mouth. Although terrified, private Pruitt remained silent, determined not to betray his Platoon or his country. "OK GI Joe, we will see how brave you are," snapping his fingers into the air above his head. Giving what sounded like an order to some unseen ally. Out of the shadows stepped another Viet Cong soldier, in his hands was a small metal cage about 10 inches in width and height. There was a movement from within the cage, Pvt Pruitt could hear a low squeaking sound. As the cage came closer to him, he could now see that it was a very large and nervous rat.
"You will tell me where your troops are located, GI Joe," pausing for an answer. "Very well GI Joe, you may join your friends. This will be most unpleasant for you GI Joe." The shadow-man snapped his fingers once more. The other soldier lowered the cage down and placed it on Pvt Pruitt's stomach. The rat became more agitated sensing the mans body so close to it. "Now GI Joe, I will explain, you see your new friend has not eaten in days, and the guards like to poke at him with sticks and cigarettes." Pruitt was so scared he could hardly speak. He felt he was going to defecate uncontrollably. He surprised even himself to hear his words come out, "Go to hell you filthy gook." Those words would seal his fate forever.
"You will die screaming, like the pig that you are GI Joe," snapping his fingers again. The soldier returned from the shadows once more, this time carrying a thick black cast-iron pot. It was filled with red hot coals, and a pair of metal tongs. "Now GI Joe...next we will place the hot coals on top of the cage. The intense heat will make your new friend go crazy. He will do anything to escape from the cage before he catches on fire and burns to death. And do remember GI Joe, he is very hungry as I have mentioned." Raising his hand and waiving it through the air, speaking to the other soldier, he says, "Remove the tray." The soldier slowly slides a metal tray that was separating the rat in the cage from Pvt Pruitt's stomach.
The rat immediately started biting and gnawing at Pruitt's stomach, burrowing into him. The crazed rat frantically trying to get away from the searing heat of the red hot coals. Pruitt screamed in pain and terror as he could feel the rat beginning to enter his stomach. Blood sprayed out of the wound, the rat chewing and scratching feverishly to escape. Pruitt's screams filled the small shack. Suddenly, there was a tremendous explosion. The soldiers, Pvt Pruitt and the cage with the rat in it sent flying through the air in a storm of dirt, wood and rock. A large mortar round struck just short of the bamboo shed that he was being held captive in. Within minutes American troops were all over the area. It was not just the one shed, but an entire Viet Cong stronghold. No doubt a major target for our troops if they were to move onward.
Pruitt slowly lifted his head. The right side of his face badly burned by the explosion. The hair singed completely off of his head.
He could see a viet cong soldier officer a few feet away from him, a large bamboo pole impaling the man's stomach, exiting through his neck. A cigarette still burned in his mouth, held tightly in between his teeth. The shadow-man no doubt, Pruitt whispered, "Good for you, you son of a bitch. I hope you burn in hell." One of the American soldiers sifting through the rubble notices Pruitt and yells, "Medic!...I need a medic over here...we've got wounded!" Just before passing out, Pruitt manages to look up at the G.I calling for help,"Thank you..." One of the other soldiers looks over, "Jesus Christ. This was one of those rat rooms. They were using rats on them to get information." From behind him could be heard the sound of a soldier vomiting.
Private Pruitt would spend a year in a military hospital for his wounds and convalescing. The surgeons at a M.A.S.H unit had to remove the dead rat's body from within Pruitt's stomach, killed by the concussion of the blast. Private Pruitt himself suffered from three fractured ribs, a broken leg, a sprained wrist and two missing fingers. He also had to have numerous pieces of debris removed, which became shrapnel after the mortar attack. However, the most damage he incurred was to his face. His right eye was completely gone, and the entire upper-right side of his face was horribly scared by burns. Aside from screaming in the night, Pruitt never spoke a word to anyone at the hospital. When told his family was being notified, he went into a rage, until he was assured they would not come to see him, not until he was ready.
As it turned out Pvt. Anthony J Pruitt would never be ready to see his family, or have any kind of social life resembling normal. He could not recover mentally from his horrific ordeal, or the terrible scars which had changed his body. He felt as though he was the phantom of the opera, every time he looked into a mirror. The sight of himself only deepening his mental condition, his was a mind tortured by memories and by the physical pain left behind by his injuries. Private Pruitt would never live a normal life ever again. He would become one of the forgotten ones, slowly pushed away, unwanted by society. The victim of an unpopular war that nobody wanted. He was a symbol of something people wanted to forget, and so he was not treated as the hero whom he might have been, but as a hideous reminder of a wounded country.
He became addicted to painkillers in the hospital. When he was released, he wandered the streets, not knowing where to go, where to call home. He began drinking any kind of alcohol that he could lay his hands on. Between the pain pills, which the government paid for, and the alcohol which he spent every scent he had on, he became a zombie. He was like so many others that returned home to be scorned and ridiculed. He became one of the walking dead. A creation of war, not only the horrors that were part of war itself, but the inevitable reaction to it when it was over. Some wars receive acclaim and praise. Parades marched down main street for the returning heroes. Some wars receive protests, anger and rejection of those who fought in them.
And so, that October night, three lives were laid to waste. All due to the insanity of war, and all the injustices it provokes. It would appear that our country could spare no expense to create greater weapons of war. However, no amount of money could cure the wounds, or the true damages incurred by it. These things hopefully, would just be forgotten in time. Them being more of an embarrassment than a real issue that needed to be addressed. Perhaps one-day men of all races, creeds and religions, will find a way to sol
ve their differences through a forum of words and agreeable pacts. One must admit, that for a so called civilized society, we certainly do our very best to find new and devastating ways to take human life.
Rest in peace, Private First Class, Anthony Joseph Pruitt
Chapter 3: The Wave; Touched by Evil
As a young boy I hated Autumn, the season known as Fall. There are many reasons, the foremost being, it is the season in which both my parents were brutally murdered; good enough reason to hate any season I guess. However, I hated fall for more reasons than just this. It was the end of Summer, the season that is so alive with blooming flowers, trees, birds singing and animals abundantly running about. Fall had a more devious and ominous message. It foretold of the coming of Winter, a cold and brutal season in itself, which would steal the life of anyone foolish enough to misjudge its powers.
Fall meant the leaves would begin to change in color from the luscious green of life, to the blood Red, Orange and Yellow color of flames. The country side looked as though the flames of Hell had themselves come to consume