1.1
09/07/2009
I'm glad I joined the military. It adds some interest to the mundane life I live here. Plus, the uniforms are sick. Being able to wear camo and carry a gun around at least makes me feel good about myself–like I'm doing something with my life. I'm technically still a student in secondary school, but our city prioritizes the safety of the people (or so they say), so my duties as a soldier come first. That's a good thing, because I have no interest in anything they teach at school. I once had aspirations, but now, I simply live on, and the days pass by without change.
I live in the military housing that's provided to soldiers who have nowhere else to go. The barracks are entirely constructed of pine boards, and I don't think they've been renovated in the last thirty years. The walls are cracked and dusty, with spider webs found in plenty around the corners and edges of rooms.
A hallway runs down the middle of our building, and the rooms are on either side, each one containing only a bed and the bare minimum amount of space for a desk or dresser. My bed is no more than an elevated wood platform with a thick blanket for a mattress. I also have a blanket that's supposed to actually function as a blanket, but it's far too thin to provide any warmth.
Did they really need to be so stingy about it? Needless to say, I'm fighting for my life on the cold nights we have here.
My room also has a single square window, positioned on the opposite side of the door, which happens to be a blank slab of wood. There isn't a lock or anything, but it's not like I have a need for one. I'm also privileged enough to live under the light of a single lightbulb positioned directly above the door frame. It gives off only a dull glow and flickers every once in a while, but it's enough.
The only real complaint I have is the damn floor. If I don't stand up with the utmost caution, I'm guaranteed to get a thick splinter in the sole of my foot every single time I get out of bed. Would it really be that difficult to sand the floors?
On the other side of the door, there's a long, thin hallway that leads to the common area, which is all the way at the end of the building. It has a bathroom and kitchen, but there's also room to relax and socialize, which many of the soldiers spend their free time doing.
Personally, I keep to myself. Ever since I arrived in Hoodsdale, I can't remember having a conversation that wasn't awkward. I'm sure the issues stem from my past, and, although I know that most of the guys here are trustworthy, I just have this feeling that I can never shake.
I should make it clear that not every soldier is housed here, as many of them have their own apartments in the main part of the city. Our city, Hoodsdale, is structured so that the government buildings, including those for school and military, are on the north, the apartment buildings are on south, and all the stores and whatnot are in the middle. The city doesn't take up a very large area, so everything is densely packed, and the whole thing has sort of a downtown vibe.
With a population of around sixty thousand, the city isn't small, but it's small enough that you're able to walk wherever you want to go–of course, we don't have much of a choice as there's no public transportation and nobody has their own cars, although there are buses to shuttle kids from their apartments to school and back.
There are things to do in the city, and people do them. I don't have any friends, so I spend my time gazing out my window, looking at the horizon with an empty mind. I've gotten quite good at it, and there's no better way to deal with the shadows and headaches of the past than to just sit there and feel it all as raw sensations, not letting a single thought get into my head.
I lifted my hands in front of my face and looked at the smooth skin that used to be riddled with ugly scars. The element of healing that the government had provided me with had erased every last one of them.
Well, except for one. Turning my left hand over, I exposed my palm and the thick white band that ran across it. It was the single visible sign of my past that remained, but the element had only healed physical harm.