[ CW ] Kill the writer in first-person narrative .

I didn ’ t want to be here. No one did. There was sand everywhere, it was hot as fuck, and you couldn ’ t get a decent burger anywhere. “ Be all you can be! ” they said. “ Pay for your college by serving your country. ” I took the bait hook, line, and sinker. Now I ’ m stuck in this shit-hole counting down the days until I can finally have a good meal and a warm bed. Who the fuck gives a 19 year old a gun anyways? I ’ m probably the most irresponsible mother fucker on the planet and the Army decides that it ’ s a great idea to load me up with an M16A4 that shoots 45mm NATO rounds, a M9 Beretta, and all the M67 frag grenades I could throw. 
 
 
 I just wanted to go to college without burdening my Mom. She worked too hard raising me by herself when my “ father ” was off “ working late ” at the office. FASFA said that my father made too much money to qualify for financial aid, and I was not crawling back to him for a handout. My mom cried when I told her that I was enlisting in the Army. She was worried about the war going on, which was sensible. I sat her down and explained the GI bill, and how she wouldn ’ t have to worry about working to put me through college anymore. She begged my father to talk to me, but I tore his check up and gave him a big “ fuck you ” as I left for basic. 
 
 
 I heard a slight knocking on the glass window of my Humvee. It was my sergeant, Chris. He was 22 with a face that looked 16, but he was still my superior. His eyes squinted behind his smudged coke-bottle glasses. “ What you doing there bud? ” he asked. He looked concerned. I don ’ t blame him. When a PFC locks himself in a Humvee with nothing but a tac vest and combat helmet on it normally raises some alarms. I just wanted some time to myself. 
 
 
 “ Thinking ” I replied. The answer didn ’ t seem to sit well with Chris. 
 “ About what buddy? ” His voice wavered a little. “ You know you don ’ t have to do this right? Why don ’ t you just come out of the car and we can talk about it? ” 
 
 
 There was nothing to talk about at that point. *Kids*. They were fucking kids Chris. I don ’ t care why we were there, but the kids had no part in this. I didn ’ t sign up for that. I ’ d rather flip burgers for the rest of my life in bum-fuck nowhere than involve kids in this. It ’ s not like I ’ d have a job after this anyways. Once I step out of the car I ’ m going straight to the psych ward at Tripler for a medical discharge. No one wants a 19 year old with PTSD in their classes, so college is now out of the question. 
 
 
 I flicked the safety on my Beretta. This seemed to get Chris ’ attention. He started to panic and bang on the window. *Please don ’ t look Chris; I don ’ t need you to remember me like this. * I took off my helmet and held the Beretta to my forehead. Quick, easy, right through. I looked up at Chris. He knew. I knew. 
 
 
 Tell my mom I died in combat. Tell my dad to fuck himself. 

