A Letter to Harold Pinnicks

What is my name? I don’t even think it ever mattered. My friend? Harold Pinnicks. What is the problem? He’s going crazy, and I think I am too.
It started earlier this week, god it seems so long ago. We were in the truck, moving across the road in Iraq, I don’t even remember where we were, nor do I think it matters. We were to act as security guards for the U.S. Embassy, and as such, we were careless, joking around the whole time, all 7 of us: Harold, his younger brother, myself and the others.
If we had been more careful maybe what happened next could have been avoided.
The truck ran over a mine, engulfing the entire truck in fire as it sent it flying end over end. Our bodies banged around off the sides and each other as the burning vehicle made its deadly roll over the sand.
Harold and I were the luckiest, we sat at the back so when the mine went off, we were the first to fall from the wreckage, with only a broken wrist.
But it was the others who were not so lucky.
When we rushed back to the wreckage, we say the horror of our fellow soldiers. I remember the smell of blood, no overpowering, but ever present. One of the knives we carried was bumped loose and cut one of the guys, he was ok, but bleeding pretty badly. Two of them had broken bones like Harold and I, but they were unable to move.
Then Harold spotted his brother, lying in front with the dead driver. It appears that his neck was snapped and he died quickly.
He looked almost as if he was just sleeping, his uniform hid any damage from our eyes, but his neck was bent at an awkward angle and his eyes and mouth were open in a deathly gasp.
Harold lost it.
He screamed and pulled the body out, letting his sobs free as he worked. He fought off the other soldiers who were able to move who tried to pull him back to safety in case of an attack but he continued to scream for his brother.
He screamed about how sorry he was about making his young brother join the army, a choice he didn’t give him. Harold dealt with such guilt that day and every day after that he was sent back to the states as a danger to himself and others.
He pulled knives at lunch, gripped his gun like we was going to use it, and began writing strange notes, notes about death and betrayal, about how sorry he was to his brother, about how he shouldn’t be alive.
I remember his screaming at night, screams that echoes so deep in my ears, I… I swear they might be my own.
They hadn’t let him leave the asylum since they admitted him, and I’m sure they will never let him go.
As for me, I don’t know how I feel, I mean, it doesn’t even feel like I really exist anymore.

The doctor read over the letter a few times then sighed, “Poor guy.”
“What do you mean?” Another asked, and was handed the letter. After reading it, he asked, “Who wrote this? I didn’t know we had another soldier from the attack.”
The doctor nodded his head and said, “I know.”
Meanwhile Harold was sleeping on the keyboard he used to type up his letter, a look of pain permanently etched on him face.
-~-

Almost, but not now...

My entire life has been spent wondering, waiting, hoping there would be a time for it. That one moment I would realize what my purpose would be, and what I am meant to do.
I never expected what happened to ever happen.
You see, I only recently entered a relationship and though I was told so many times in my life to be careful, I still went ahead at her call.
I satisfied my selfish appetite with the fuel of desire so strong my very soul shook when thought of...
But then it happened.
There was an... accident and the barrier we put up was broken, opening its doors for a new life. We didn't know at first, she kept regular and didn't show any real signs til about three months she started to get sick often, and complained of her hands and feet swelling.
To be safe, we bought two pregnancy tests that both told us she was not. After that we relaxed a little, even finding some seasonal jobs, which in hindsight was a bad decision at the time.
They worked her to the ground, taking advantage of her "can-do" attitude and generous nature. She was asked to carry boxes as heavy as she was, and to multitask beyond the point of human. Her manager, in light of her hard work, berated her for slacking which only added more to her stress.
I didn't work the same job as her, and she didn't tell me what was happening till the jobs ended. I thought everything was fine, until she called from work.
She coughed out my name as she was sobbing from the restroom, wailing out of pain between her words. At first, she wasn't able to explain to me what was happening, then she said what I didn't know I feared:
Miscarriage.
I felt a cold wind take over, squeezing the breath from my body and forcing the blood to my feet. I told her to stay put and rushed to pick her up wanting nothing more than to be there with her.
When it was over. She relayed each terrible detail about the incident. The child was gone, lost to death leaving behind a grieving woman, and a boy who didn't realize the full extent of his pain.
The months afterward passed on til a full year was completed. In that time, she and I became a true aunt and uncle and grew attached to our small niece, making life more pleasant. But also during that time, hiding the shadows of my mind was the incident replaying over and over in my eyes.
And with that a single question: Would I have been a good father?
Not having one around in my life for the most part, I was unable to understand who made a good father and who didn't.
Did I have what it took to be a good father?
I don't know, but when I realized the full extent of the pain that night had caused me, I understood that I would have already known if I was or not.
I would have a bouncing, bubbly almost year old right now as I write this. Of course if there was a child, I wouldn't be writing this at all.
My family wouldn't be happy if they knew, nor would they have been happy to be introduced to my child.
But I wouldn't have cared what they thought about me having a child of my own. Ruined my life? I don't believe it would have, in fact, it would have made it better. I would have someone would would need and love me their entire life.
To me, that sounds like the only true happiness that we all could one day hopefully achieve.

-~-