In the Flesh

The day started with a hit of the cigarette. The whole apartment smelled like a cigarette. The full moon told him it was early. Pink slowly arose to the morning. He tripped over his favorite axe, causing more noise than wanted. He looked out the window, to see the sleeping town that he grew up in motionless. It was desolate. The town was dry, Pink couldn't remember the last time it rained. The twelfth floor let him view the city as he knew, as a child. But he didn't want to think about his childhood, but it was the only explanation to his life today. The cigarette had long since dimmed, so he lit up another.

A hour passed and Pink had only moved to the only chair in his empty suite. He stared at the broken television screen. The anger got the best of him that day. The television had his other "favorite" axe in it. The sun began to rise. He thought of his childhood again. He thought of his mother.

Another hour passed before he got up from his chair to grab his guitar. He moved back to the chair and did what he did best. Music was his medium for expression. He didn't want anyone to hear it. He was the only person who could understand it. Pinks eyes were heavy, as he played a tune he had grown to know so well. As he entered the rift, he leaned back and slept. Pink dreamed of his childhood. Pink thought of his mother.

Momma and daddy loved their baby. The lullabies they sang enlightened the young musician. They learned that pink only responded to rhyme and rhythm. That was until the war. Pink's father was drafted. He promised to come back. His mother received the news a month later that he was killed by a plane crash. The Nazis got him. Pink's mother only got a letter and a uniform. She knew that in order to not lose another man in her life, she would have to protect Pink.

Four years had passed before Pink questioned why he had no father. He did this because the kids on the playground all had a adult male figure with them. He had himself. Pink walked up to his mother on a cozy afternoon and simply asked the question that she feared was coming. "Mommy, why do I not have a father?" She lied to him. She said he was a no-good man that drank himself out of this house. She did this to protect him. Pink wept.

It wasn't until Pink was eight before he found the uniform. He put it on.It said private F--------.The rest of the name tag was torn off.The sleeves dragged against the hardwood of the flat as he found it amusing to play in . His mother walked in to all the noise. She knew that she had to tell him.

"Son, please sit down, and take this uniform off", she asked timidly

Pink did so politely and sat next to her on the bed. She didn't know where to begin. As she opened her mouth, Pink interrupted her.

"Mommy, what did daddy look like?"

She went for the only family album that had the remaining pictures of him. She opened it up for her son.

"You're father was a brave man. He was strong and valiant, and patriotic. He was a great man"

"So where is he mommy? Is he still drinking and gambling?"

She cried, but answered, "No son, he died. He died for this country. He died to stop a regime unlike any other." She thought he died for a lost cause. She continued, "These are the only pictures we have left. That uniform you had on was his. They gave it to me as a recognition for his participation for his country in the war. That is all we have left."

She wept as Pink rose up and walked out the room, emotionless. That is all he dreamed of now was the image of a plane incinerating his father in a crash.

Pink woke up to from the dream. He knew he just opened up what he had so successfully walled off before. His childhood. Pink slowly got out of the chair, laying his guitar on the ground. As he ate the last few slices of bread in the suite, he noticed that quite a bit of time had passed since he had fallen asleep. He thought of his dreams. Pink walked into his room, opened the closet, and pulled out the uniform. He sat at the foot of his bed and stared the uniform. He cursed his mother, denounced the Nazis and beat himself up for showing emotion. The only way to stop was to do it the way he did before. He put it off and wept for the remainder of the day. Isolation was his only friend.