James could feel the sweat on his skin, but could not wake himself up. His body jerked and twisted as if his back were being shocked or speared. The nightmare enveloped him. As he grasped at his sheets and thrashed in his torment, his breathing became shallow. His alarm clock yelled for attention, and his moans called for mercy, but the cruelty of his punishment lingered.
He finally awoke with a jerk that knocked him onto the cold tiles. The drool, almost foam, from his lips stuck to the dirty, neglected floor. James laid there for a while, not counting the minutes, not thinking, barely breathing. The only thought that could get him up was his medication. The dribble of foam from his mouth was on his hair, cheek and chin, almost dropping down his shirtless, boney body. As he made his way into the kitchen his pajama pants dusted the floor as he went. They, like the rest of his wardrobe, were too big for him now. His money went to his mistress rather than his appearance. The want in his stomach was overpowered by the need in his brain. Food had become second to his lover. He kept her in his favorite place, the bomb shelter, where love and loss coincided into a euphoric state only others she had been with could understand.
. His mistress called to him night and day, the only rest was when they were together. His family and old friends had taken her away to the point where they could only meet in the bomb shelter out back. Lost in a haze, James began the slow shuffle to the back door.To get there, he has to make it through the “Hall of Hell”, a deliberate torture mechanism devised by his parents. His parents knew that they were still meeting somehow, her influence was obvious, but after everything is said and done his actions were just that ; his. This hall was a last defense put up long ago, when tears were still shed and friends still came over to see how he was doing.   It was a long hall filled with deadly traps of pictures from a different dimension, and even equipped with bright lighting to ensure maximum pain. The soft, white carpet, a stark contrast to his yellow toe nails, meant that looking down wasn’t enjoyable, it would only remind him of his appearance. He would be forced to truly see his imperfections against the newly vacuumed, steam cleaned, and freshened carpet.
To the left, the only images allowed to him were of himself,  before he was seduced. His clean cut and muscular alter ego stared with utter disapproval. The green camouflage could not hide the change that had taken place. James glanced to his  left, if for only for a second, and saw a stranger. He was regretfully transported to his old base camp. The dull pain of lost memory steadily took his mind and the sound of others running toward a truck began to fill his ears. His best friend was once again beside him, smiling. The fresh air blew through his hair as they raced for the mail call. His only desire was a word from Liz, his love, his one and only. Stan easily beat James with his jog, and stole his mail. With his only chance being submission, James commenced to beg the great and powerful Stan. “That’s just not good enough big boy. Let’s see… what shall the king get in return?” Stan asked, playfully rejecting James’s advances for his paper.
“Is this really necessary? You know I’m dying to see what she wrote!”
“That is not how you shall address me. Remember, you do need me to tie your tie for inspection. Anyway, if you need it so bad maybe you should have run faster.”
“Ran, I should have ran faster”
“Wow, bad at PT and English. You sure are a catch, James.” Stan gave the precious letter to his bunkmate, and watched as he scrambled to open the flimsy envelope.
James took his eyes off of the old photograph, shaking. He was barely halfway through the hallway, and already he wanted to leave this world. There was no silver lining, no happy ending, and no hope. The past was his only happy place, and even that has begun to bring him pain. Memories only twist the knife of reality. His new love was the only point for taking another breath. He met her through a doctor at the end of his tour.  After a bullet to his stomach, the doctor introduced him to morphine, and through her, he met his new girl. James’s usually emotionless face felt a tear escape, as he turned away from himself, and his friend. His turn was a little too sharp, and he caught bright green eyes above red painted lips. On his right he was also fit, and with different company. This thin, dirty blond in his arms was his girlfriend. Liz, wrapped in blue a dress that emphasized her curves, had on her million dollar smile, the one she only used for him. Her perfect, straight, white teeth framed with rose red lipstick was the focal point of the picture. The image was so close that the rim of her blue garment was cut off by the golden rim of the frame. James reached to the picture, reached to her, but she refused to move. Refuse to ever come back to him again. 
The memory flooded in like a river bent on revenge, causing a headache and nausea. He was back at his base camp with the letter. His very last letter from Liz, contained not  the sweet release of a thought of home, but a poison trap of rejection. Instead of teasing him Stan only stood there trying to judge the content by the look on James’s face. “You ok, James? No pictures today?” Stan stepped closer and finally understood. James was pale by then and fainted.
James woke up in bed, clutching the letter like a mother clutches a favorite toy of a lost son. “You passed out and I couldn’t get the paper away, what does it say?” Stan asked as he stood up from a chair beside the bed.
“She….she...doesn’t….”
“Doesn’t what?”
“She doesn’t love… me. She said….she...she found someone else...she left me..”
“Jesus, James,” Stan said, trying to comfort him as he sat on James’s bed, “how could she just do that to you?  I mean you kids were engaged and everything. Don’t worry, you’ll come back a war hero and she’ll come running back, James. Don’t worry one bit about it buddy. War heros always get the girl.” Stan, with nothing else to say, left for PT.
James just continued to cradle the paper, reading and rereading the words “ You left. Now I am leaving with John. It is over. Goodbye James.”
Reality came crashing in and made James feel dizzy. He fell backward into the wall, slamming his head into another tormenting picture. He needed a fix, and to leave his thoughts in the past. His withdrawal forced him to crawl the rest of the way out of the hall to the backyard., The last landmark on his way to bliss is a single doorway.This landmark used to be a force to be reckoned with but with the retirement of hope also came the retirement of interventions, an endless sea of tears, and a mountain of pleas. His mother’s room was now just another hollow reminder of the past.
James finally got outside and crawled to the shelter, his only protection from the world. The metal hole in the ground was stocked with doomsday supplies : food, water, flashlights, batteries, and his personal additions which had evolved as he had. James searched through the field of cans, to his love. The piles of needles no longer interested him, and the pipes had no use anymore. James was after his new lover, his acid. He put the little paper square on his tongue and instantly felt better. Just the knowledge that he had it was medicine in itself, it gave him help through reality.
With his new sense of security, he went back into the house, to find lunch on the kitchen table with a little note. “James, I really wish you would eat more, sweetie. I made your favorite. When you come back in the house I’ll probably be gone. I have to pick up a couple of things for your birthday party. Do you remember? You turn 20 tomorrow. I hope you can remember. Love you, Mommy.” James ate the lunch out of love instead of hunger.  
After the forced grub he went back to his room and turned on his radio. He locked the door and took to his bed. With his mistress came a lost sense of time. It seemed like his mother never came back. There was no sound other than the psychedelic sounds emanating from his favorite device. At that moment, he didn't care if she ever came back, he just lied there in a colorful bliss. After a while he remembered his duty as birthday boy and  put on his birthday face to go to the living room. Instead of the expected birthday gift and a pair of parents with the same hopeless eyes that he held, the only thing the livingroom held was a small disappointment. How long did it take him to remember it was his birthday? Did he wait long enough? He decided to not worry about it as time is a slippery foe and perhaps he lost this round. With this thought now a fact in his mind, he decided to get another kiss from the only girl that really loved him.
As he approached the hallway he noticed the carpet had grown longer, and would slowly grow if he turned away. As the grassy carpet slowly snuck up his ankles, James realized that it was no longer white but a deep, damp green. The carpet can’t hurt me, he thought as he trudged forward. This time when he stole glances to his right or left the pictures not only stared, but scowled. They hated him and they knew he was afraid.
The jungle of carpet and the glares from old friends became the least of his worries as James began to duck from speeding bullets. They seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Suddenly one caught him in the leg, and threw him against the wall. With the door of freedom in sight, James crawled through the jungle, and successfully avoided too much more pain. The door offered no resistance and the fresh breeze finally allowed him to breath.  The bomb shelter was only a few feet away and James easily cleared the distance with a sprint. The cold metal of the door froze his fingers as gentle snowflakes began to surround him. He opened the door to his personal wonderland and locked it behind him His addiction was the only company he needed. He tried to find her, as the illusion of bliss evaded him. In his rage of need he began to push over the stacks of cans and step on his love in his efforts to find her. The crashing of his search became louder and more violent as she eluded him. Suddenly he threw his body against the metal wall, and his ears were filled with white noise. The same white noise he heard in battle. The only possible explanation was war, and he was ready.
Fighting hordes of cans, and evading imaginary bullets made James fully destroy his shelter. The pain of cold metal against bare skin burned, and thrashing caused tears in his flesh. A final blow to the head by the enemy forces condemned James to a mildly conscious death march. His breath began to shorten and his need only got stronger. The world grew brighter as a hand reached for him. The soft tanned skin could only belong to Liz, his beloved, his reason. Her flowing hair brushed his face as he buried himself in her neck. The world went white and he was gone. Gone, but not alone.