Time travels down its linear path without you. I am older now; wiser, jaded, indifferent, and free. A decade has passed since he last struck me with a shovel. However, he is no longer the one that I hate. Yes, I hated him back then; more than anything. However, in my unyielding desire to flee a demon; I unknowingly plunged deep into the catacombs of an implacable institution; a greater hell. Summer was almost over on the last day of my childhood.

The day was gray; hiding the sun behind a thick blanket of ignorance. R.E.M. played one last song on the tired cassette deck, and then they were promptly shut off. The tears masses across my mothers face; my fathers scrupulous hug was bitter. I walked away; never looking back. It was the end of the world as I knew it.

I lost my only, and most valuable possession. You took that from me, and I hate you for it. Individuality was all I ever had. Who I was; What I am; The person I will become. You took it away and replaced it with a number; a bar-code printed neatly across my chest, and throughout my mind. I became your weapon; your destroyer. A sword of pure wraith; unsheafed in the holy name of indifference. Innocents not only lost, but daily trod upon in mockery.

For three years I lived that bar-code; regurgitated your policy; enforced your ideals; and projected your standards. Days slowly transformed into nights; endless nights; constant hatred. You know that hatred well, because you put it deep inside my very core. You planted the seed within my soul, and from it grew a tree, or rather a vine of thorn; conceived in bane. Spindling out from my mind; tangling my entire being; wrapping me tightly; suffocating without a chance of escape. You would have been successful too. I was nearly devoured. You never once considered that I might turn on you; biting the very hand that fed me. You could have never anticipated the death. Nor could you have predicted it’s effect on my conscience. Cold to touch; catatonic, and hollow. The sunken eyes reminded me of the smart inflicted by a shovel’s strike. They reminded me of the pain; all the pain; past and present.

The days spent in the creek’s bed; cold wet. Sediment slowly working its way through my leather boots. The red clay sticking to my clothing; then drying in the cool breeze. Causing the already uncomfortable uniform to stick to my permeated skin.

Feet bleeding in the parched desert sand. Neck swollen and burnt; Shoulders sunken from carried weight.

The correspondence with a past life; friends, and family; slowly crumbling; loss of relation; commitment; sincerity.

The blood flowing so rich and crimson down a white wall; how beautiful it was; majestic yet terrifying.

A lost reflection in a broken mirror. He would look at me, yet he wasn’t me; his eyes dark and unreadable. I often wondered what my reflection was thinking.

The pounding arterial flow through my head. Standing alone, and in the dark. Steam rising from the shower’s hot water. Wishing I would have never awaken from drunken bliss, and ignorance.

Circular muzzle pressed firmly against my own head.

The nightmares; endless nightmare.

You thought that the dog would never turn on his own master. You were wrong... In those days I felt a rage like none other. A thousand windows broken with brick; lashing out with snarling teeth. The bloodthirsty gnashing at the heart of your authority. How many noble men did I drop in my wake? How many careers did I smear, thrash, utterly destroy? How much damage did I bring to your precious system? I want you to know that I planned the entire campaign; nothing was by chance. I religiously searched out the they and I made them feel the wraith of twenty four hundred fallen soldiers; face down in a salty tide; millions more, cut short for your foolish pride, and ignorant ways. Your hypocrisy had seen its last day, and so I fell from the ranks of purgatory, and the company of you. Leaving you with nothing, and me with mere freedom.

Now I am given to thought, I could sit here in the darkness of my room, and blame everything on you. I could scream out, “It is all your fault,” and throw endless punches into the air. I could trace back every problem in my modern life to that single moment; the stitch in time; my last day of childhood; the day I met you. I could blame every broken relationship; every frightened reflex; all of my mental anguish; the hatred; I could blame this on you, and I would be right.

I could also blame you for all of the lost loves of my life. Knowing that everyone I have ever loved has walked out my door; never to return. I’ve never walk out on a relationship. However, now looking back; was I ever really there? Part of me was. However, the soul was buried deep within my protective walls. Those walls were your doing as well. Unfortunately, passing this blame is not my way, and I understand that I initially chose to follow you; part of my pleading retreat. I was never forced, and naive as I might have been; the decision was mine alone. Also, I know that my mere absence has hurt you enough. I am also constantly forcing myself to see the good that has derived from you.

The hours of thought; provoking self awareness.

The silver layer of ice fog as it folded back; giving way to the stars. They were always brighter then; glistering in the reflection of crystallized dew.

The love of life; the respect of life.

An iridescent sunrise in the desert’s silent vacuum of time.

These are all things that you have given me, and I thank you for them. I also thank you for the anger that burns in my soul; for without it I might have someday returned to your open arms. When you told me I would not be gone for long. You said, that I would return because I had become you. You said that there was fire in my eyes, and you thought that I had found my place in life.

Well, here I am; two years later; living with that fire; and still free from your malignant grasp; and I am happy. I thank you for making me hate you, because I am a better person now, because of it; because of you. With this thanks my letter comes to a close. My only hope being; that one day I might overcome the hurtle of you. With time your memory will fade, and all that will be left, is your silhouette; shadowing hundreds of my photographs, and some distant corridor of my mind.

Jack -