A.W.O.L. – Fiction

A.W.O.L.

by Joe Alberto

ALTERNATIVE WAY OF LIFE
INTRODUCTION TO LIFE, INTRODUCTION TO HELL

22 YEARS
Just a number, 22. Time escapes me while I try to remember exactly why it is that I am here. To remember what, if anything, it is that I am supposed to do.

One year ago, I was thinking about one year ago. That year, I thought about the year before. So strange it seems that one’s mind may wander so far into the past as the body aches deeper with each passing day.

An old man can call me a youngster, but 22 years seems an eternity. After all, one year is 365 days, and 22 years is 8,030 of those. Give or take an hour or two.
Such an extremely long amount of time.

Everyday becoming longer than the last simply due to the fact that another day has been dropped down on the mounting pile of days. Just another day in which to make a few more mistakes, and another 24 hours to think about that day. But you’re never done with analyzing the day before.

As it all adds up and passes me by, as if I were standing in this one spot with Krazy Glue on the soles of my feet, I can only wonder why it all had to start.

That first day, with the doctors all lurking about and giving off an utterly false sense of importance, my poor mother had her legs in the air while she was busy doing all of the work. Very mysterious that my father should feel proud as Mom writhes in pain.

Suddenly, and without any warning whatsoever, this huge human-thing yanks me from the womb by my legs and proceeds in slapping the shit out of my ass. But even worse than that is the fact that I don’t even have any clothes on.

Covered in blood and all sorts of strange stuff, I am thrust forward from a world of darkened warmth into an utterly relentless brightness. No choice is given to me and no questions are asked. And none are answered.

To begin a life is perhaps the most traumatic experience any mere mortal may ever face. A veritable cacophony of happenings which occurs rapidly enough to constitute several moving violations.

And to add more weight to an already overwhelming mass of unexplained confusion, every single minute of existence only permits added time in which to ponder this “miracle.” A miracle that cannot ever be figured, or understood completely.

Perhaps the idea of my existence did pass through the minds of my parents in the middle of some passion that they lost those 22 years ago. Maybe they knew that I was scheduled to arrive sometime in their near future, and maybe not. But one thing that I happen to know is the fact that they forgot to include an instruction manual with this package.

Once, a long time ago, but more than likely yesterday, I had the opportunity to browse through a pamphlet which did list my year, make and model number.
Unfortunately, and with much aggravation on my part, I found the directions were written only in Japanese.

If I felt lucky, the way I do every once in a great while, I might apply at my nearest Earthy-Crunchy State School and take some Taiwanese language courses. Or I can just try it all again in another 22 years.