Sometimes.






Carefully we carry ‘em out to freedom, gentleness a necessity ‘cause they’re broken and torn. For these lost souls one way or another at least they’re now free. Saved from the prison they’ve been held in but just like all the others it’s a prison that fed on misery. The strong stone walls of this one, that caged with pride and fuelled and consumed the grief of those that suffered here, now lie in ruins on the traitorous patch of earth that once supported ‘em; they’re now as broken and torn as their last occupants are.

I made sure those walls will bear witness to no more pain.

They call ‘em ‘gifts but where I’m concerned I’m not so sure. I’m kinda still sittin’ on the fence with that one. They’ve kept me alive and sometimes that’s a blessin’ but sometimes it’s a curse. There are times when I’ve wanted to live but other times when I’ve wanted more than anythin’ to die. The healin’ is a godsend with the former but downright inconvenient with the latter. My senses mean I can see, hear, smell and taste both life and death and everythin’ in-between. There is no quiet, no peace. No chance to rest.

I’m alive and for that I should be grateful and there are times when I am but I also understand the release and relief that can come with death, somethin’ I’ve always been denied and I sometimes wonder if you can truly live without the finality of death as an endin’.

I watch Scooter as he strides into the jet. His silhouette in front of me to all intense and purpose the same as it always is. Those that follow look up to him for guidance so he leads by example. He shows them how to be and in doin’ so how not to be. He won’t let any weakness show, believes he *can’t* let any weakness show, he is strong, feels he *must* be strong. What he is and how he is; is what they will try to be, *how* they will try to be. Sometimes I wish I was that blind. I see. I see the dejected slump deep within his bones. The slight difference in the way he holds himself and the way he moves. His failure as he sees it, written all over him for only me to see but it’s there and I see it too easily. He isn’t a failure, I’ve tried tellin’ him over and over in the past but he wouldn’t accept it then or now, he just doesn’t understand.

As I re-claim my seat and adjust the young life I hold in my arms I’m pretty sure today will be a day I’m neither grateful or thankful for the senses I have.

I can smell death from a thousand paces let alone up this close. I can see the pain in every breath and I can hear as hearts fail and fade. Like surround sound it hits me from every angle - I’m forced to watch, to hear and to smell the pain that’s all around me, I can even taste it in the air and there’s no escape.

I’ve been on both sides. Where they are and where I am now. Sometimes it feels just the same.

I’m overloaded now, my senses enhanced even more than usual in this confined space. The devastation all around me, the purposeful destruction of human life at the hands of other so called humans. That in itself has a taste all of its own; it’s one we all feel, but the sights, sounds and smells that go with it, the constant bombardment, just the feel of it all fills me until there’s no room for any more and it’s too much. I try to concentrate on the small part of the destruction that lie’s in my arms. In the background Jeannie’s in ‘host mode’ tellin’ everyone not to be afraid, how they’ll all be just fine, how she’s here to help and make it all better. I try hard to tune her out; I’ve heard it all before. Just like her husband she doesn’t understand and I don’t think either of them ever will.

Sometimes I hope they don’t, that way their innocence will always remain. I wouldn’t damn them to be like me. They’ve never been in a position to know any different and as long as they never have to endure it they can live in their own little bubble of ignorance. Much as I’d like ‘em to understand I wouldn’t wish the experience on either of ‘em. They think ‘cause they see the end results they *know* but it’s about as far from the same as heaven and hell.

These places, these torture chambers we raid are all run in the same manner. Cruelty is magnified, transformed and warped into somethin’ with no name, not comprehendible or describable and totally unexplainable to those who’ve never experienced it. I’ve seen it, lived it, died it and survived it though I’m not completely sure about the last of those statements.


There is such a thin line between life and death but these inhumane bastards are masters at knowin’ just where that line is. They take so much pleasure in knowin’ that fact and keepin’ these lives just above the point of no return. Even bastards make mistakes, but it’s rare. Time and time again we carry ‘em out while they’re still breathin’ if only barely.

I glance over to Marie and listen as she whispers words of comfort to the failin’ life she holds gently in her arms. She knows. She knows she holds a life that’s been saved but that there’s no life left to live. She’s seen and felt through me that sometimes freedom comes only with death. The grim reaper has compassion here. He is the rescuer, the saviour, not us, and he will take many today. Their pain to great, their bodies too weak. Knowin’ they’re safe is the final nail, hammered home deep into a coffin long overdue. Many will shut down now and smile all the way. Their instinct to fight at long last lettin’ go. Understandin’ is knowin’ freedom can be gained this way.

I can smell anger overwritten with the feeling of guilt along with the salt of tears. Scooter thinks his glasses hide his emotions and they do from most but again not from me. I can hear the despair in Jeannie’s voice as she tries to save those who are already far beyond any of the medical intervention she can dish out. She always asks herself why? I know the answer but because she doesn’t understand there is no answer to give. She will push herself to the limits because of it, just like her husband will.

It's not a bad thing but sometimes there is nothing you can do no matter how hard you try.

I try hard to listen to anythin’ but the rhythm I seem to be honin’ into, the weakenin’ heartbeat of the fragile little girl in my arms. Another life saved but lost. The sickenin’ contradiction of our ‘rescues’. Those on our side call us heroes. There is nothin’ heroic here.

She’s smilin’. Her life is fadin’, her body and soul hardened by use and abuse but there’s a softness to her eyes now. I know that smile; I know it far too well. I understand it better than anyone. I have no room for lies or false hopes. I hold her tight and I tell her she can sleep now, she’s safe, and that no-one will ever hurt her again.

As I watch her body relax and wait for a beat that I know won’t come, I lock eyes with Marie – she understands. She accepts. It’s written clearly all over her face. Her eyes are the mirror image of mine. Without wantin’ to maybe I damned someone to be me after all.

I guess it’s all about balance. This is no fairytale, it’s a cruel and dark world full of nightmares and demons but she’s there [here], tippin’ the scales back. Through it all she somehow remains gentle and loving with a warmth that can heat the coldest of days so maybe I didn’t damn her completely.

If the world wants a Hero she should be at the top of the list. I would die for her, but more importantly I will live for her.

Tonight I will revel in and relish my senses. Marie will come, she always does. She will worship the flesh that has bled and the body that was once ripped apart and left to die only to heal and face the torture over and over again. She will surround and suffocate my anger and fear into submission and defeat and she will replace it with love.

She will strengthen me. She will give me hope and let me find the peace that I can’t find without her.

She will make sure that my wantin’ to live will always outweigh any of my darker thoughts. She will take her time; make sure I listen to her voice and her heart. She will make me see her and feel her. She will touch me, heal all that’s broken within me. I will sleep with her scent groundin’ me and bindin’ me to her as it’s always done.

Sometimes I’m grateful – like tonight as I lie here in the darkness more alive than ever with my senses drenchin’ me in nothing but her.