Man, I like this title. Probably would’ve been better if I saved it for a Warlock-related story. Ah well, it fits for this thing, too.
So I was in the military for a brief period of time. During which, I spent a summer in Afghanistan. It was… boring, mostly. Mind-numbingly boring. My mind had actually been numbed to such an extreme degree, that I began having some interesting dreams. Or maybe that was just the doxycycline they made me take every day. Either way, this story is borne from one of those dreams.
Heat.
A brutal, unholy assault on every nerve ending in your body. I thought I would adjust to it. Most of the people here probably thought they would. We haven’t.
You get used to the products of it. Dry, burnt skin. The air thick with dust and the acrid scent of the septic lake on the other side of base – the only body of water remotely nearby. It’s oppressively sunny almost every day. Once there was a dust storm. A thick orange haze choked the streets for a day. The heat didn’t abate, but I was thankful for the change of scenery, at least.
When I first arrived, I didn’t have to wear my uniform. It was a small blessing that the chief of ops quickly snatched away from me after I spouted off the wrong dick joke in their presence. Now in two layers and long sleeves, I’ve accepted that my clothes would cling to my overly sweaty body in all the wrong places for the rest of my time here, the same as most everyone else.
There’s not enough room for all the people here. Not enough roads for all the cars. Freon for our air conditioners ran out long ago.
I’m sitting in traffic. We all are. Someone can’t figure out how intersections work and we’re stuck. Someone’s horn blares behind me. This isn’t my fault. ‘To hell with you!’ I would say to them, but I fear we’re already there. I have nothing to say, but I get out of the car anyway. I’m not aggressive, but the heat must’ve fried my brain. I’m angry. So is everyone else. Doors are slamming, people are shouting. I point at someone – I’m not even sure why. I don’t notice the first drop of rain hit my sleeve. I do notice when the second one hits my head.
Others start to notice. We all look up, and it hits us. A torrent of those fat, Amazon forest raindrops. I begin to laugh. I fall to my knees and spread my arms wide. The laughing becomes hysterical. I begin to cry. Why?
Joy?
Sadness?
Madness?
I don’t know.
I wake up. I’m still crying. Now I know why.
Silver lining on this story; Not long after I got back to the U.S., I went on a hike overlooking a major river. There were trees and forest critters all over the place. As soon as I was about exactly half-way through the hike, the skies darkened, the clouds burst, and I got rained on harder than I could’ve ever imagined. I hadn’t brought a raincoat, or a poncho, or anything that would kept me and all my stuff from getting absolutely soaked.
I couldn’t have been any happier.
Convulsive Ravings 