Bleak, Uncertain, Beautiful...

Static

"How'd ya get here?"

All my life, I've felt like I've just been traversing a path at the bottom of an empty canyon. Everything is blurry, but not enough that I'm lost. I know where I'm going. I know that I know these things. But the specifics escape me.

So I went searching for answers.

The army seemed promising at first. My family had been involved with the armed forces for generations, so I felt that maybe I could find a less blurry path. However, due to physical constraints, I ended up just in communications. I never saw much action, y'know. I never even went overseas, my entire job was just sendin' shit over to our men in Iraq, Iran, wherever the hell, as long as it got to them.

Then one of my buddies from boot camp came home.

Poor guy was fucked up beyond belief. I never asked what he saw, never seemed like it was much of my business, and the last thing I wanted was for him to relive that pain. I just figured I'd try to get out and help him live life as much as he still could.

We moved out to some place just outside Seattle. Shitty town, I can barely remember the name, but I can remember the times fondly. My buddy, Davis, he, uh.. he got hooked on heroin. I guess therapy didn't do much for the guy, and well.... I, I didn't necessarily want it to go this way, but I ended up joining in. Started with him not being able to leave the house but wanting another fix, so I would just go pick his shit up for him. One day, dealer says to me, "Wanna give it a try?" and I figured well, why the hell not. I'm already pretty directionless in life, and it's not like it can go any lower. Davis and I lived in a shitty apartment where the landlord refused to do repairs, I was workin' minimum wage for a boss that didn't give a single fuck about his workers, so I did it. I shot up. I actually, well, Davis doesn't know, but, I used the money he gave me to pick the heroin up to buy some of my own. Heh, as far as he knows, the dealer just skimped out on him.

Of course, it's hard to hide being a junkie from a fellow junkie, so we just started usin' together. Never fell in with shitty crowds, thankfully. Although, that's 'cause Davis passed before we got the chance. I'm not too sure if he OD'd or not, I just remember wakin' up one morning and he didn't wake up, didn't seem to have much of a pulse either. Shame, too. We barely even knew each other anymore at that point. Army days were so far in the past, that to him, I was probably just another junkie. Hell, I even forgot his first name.

But his death was a sort of wake up call for me. I didn't know where to go to get better, but I decided to walk to a nearby church. Ended up fallin' in with the religious crowd, never really got too into it though. It was more like I just liked being part of something, feeling like there was some kinda purpose, y'know? That's what I got too. Of course, I felt a twinge of guilt preachin' on the street to people when I barely believed a word comin' outta my mouth, but at the end of the day, I could go home and have a nice hot meal.

Then some old papers from the army days leaked out.

Y'see, Davis was part of a peacekeepers squadron or somethin' like that. I'm glad the poor guy died before this info got out, I'm sure he wouldn't have gotten off too easy. But apparently, his unit was patrolling a town and there was some kinda smoke bomb or somethin' got thrown, blinding everyone. So his commander, for whatever fuckin' reason, told em to just shoot straight. Doesn't seem to make much sense, but it seems his unit was on the more peaceful side of the shit that leaked. In fact, his commander did way more shit than unknowingly shooting at civilians. It's not like they knew they were shooting friendly fire.

I ended up findin' myself a path though. My father's path. See, when he came home from the war, he was fucked up too. The few times he wasn't angry and hittin' me and my mother, he'd tell us about seein' kids die, seein' your buddy's guts fall out, shit like that. He coped with it the same kinda way Davis did, except instead of a needle, my pops went to a bottle.

Y'see, people like you, you don't seem to get it. You talk and talk and talk about how, "Oh, you just need to get some help, oh, you just need to talk to someone," but guess what? Sometimes, you can't. Sometimes, you gotta pay thousands of dollars out your ass and put yourself in debt just to deal with accidentally shooting someone, or watching your friend overdose, or your father beating your mother senseless, and then when she's gone limp, you're the only one left to....

Anyways, I'm just sayin', there are worse ways to cope with this shit-filled, hopeless world than goin' to a bar. Sometimes, you run out of money, so I'd like to thank you kindly for payin' for this round. You don't get that a lot these days, people are scared to talk to strangers, and rightfully so. You might get some wacko talkin' about how they've seen God, or some nuthead who owns a full arsenal at home yet somehow can't afford to pay a goddamn parking ticket. Not me, though, I'm safe. I've left my demons far behind me in the static I've let block out anything from back then gettin' through.

"That's... quite the story. I'm so so-"

Nah, don't bother me with that fake shit, I know it, I gave it out every day for the last 30 goddamn years of my life. Thanks again, kid. You mind gettin' another round?

"S-sure.."

Thanks, it means a lot. You know, the world's kinda goin' to shit these days. Kinda makes you wonder...