I think this might have been a mistake.
Recruit Private Darcy lay alone with his thoughts on that stiff, worn-out bunk bed. It was his first night of basic training, and it had been a long, punishing day. The drill sergeants had howled like wolves as they tore into the fresh recruits, already starting the process of breaking them down.
Now the barracks were silent. Dozens of young men, each lost in their own thoughts—regret, pride, fear—lay still in the dark.
Darcy took a deep breath. The air was thick with sweat, nerves, and… something far worse.
Flatulence. Oh God. Human beings are leaking from every pore.
He winced and rolled onto his side, trying not to breathe through his nose. His thoughts drifted home.
That question from his father came back to him.
"Are you sure this is what you want to do?"
He hadn't been sure then. He wasn’t sure now.
“Mom, you’re being a little dramatic. Come on, I’m going to be okay,” he'd said at the kitchen table while she cried. But he hadn’t believed it—not really. He just wanted her to stop crying.
Next to him, Private Dawson roared like a chainsaw struggling to start.
You have got to be kidding me.
Darcy clenched his jaw. He needed sleep. He needed to shut his brain off. But Dawson's snoring was like a power tool sawing through the wall of his sanity.
What if I just put on my shoes and walked away? What if I just… left? Dad, I think I made a mistake.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through it.
A cough. A shift. Silence.
Thank God. Just drift away now. Let go. Go dark.
His muscles relaxed. His thoughts began to slow.
I’m going to be okay now, I’m going to be—
RRRNNNKKKHHHH! The chainsaw came back to life.
Darcy’s eyes flew open. Knots twisted in his chest.
To hell with this!
He sat up and glanced across the barracks. No sign of fire watch. Good.
He leaned over. “Dawson… Dawson,” he whispered, nudging him.
Nothing. The snoring intensified.
“Dawson… DAWSON!”
“Hey, shut up!” came a voice from across the room.
Darcy snapped. “Dawson, please! I have to rest—I have to sleep so I can turn these thoughts off, but I can’t… because you… ARE SNORING!”
With a desperate shove, Darcy rocked Dawson's body with surprising force—then immediately flopped onto his side and froze, playing dead.
Dawson shot upright. “Huh?! What?” His eyes scanned the darkness.
Darcy stayed motionless. It wasn’t me. I was asleep. You're dreaming. Go back to sleep, Dawson.
Eventually, Dawson grunted and lay back down. The snoring stopped.
Finally.
Darcy exhaled, his heart slowing. Peace at last. Thoughts fading. Silence...
CLANG!
A metal trash can crashed into the center of the barracks. White light flooded the room.
“WAKE UP, MAGGOTS! PT IN TEN MINUTES! LET’S GO! LET’S GO! LET’S GO!”
Darcy didn’t move. His eyes were wide open.
...I’m definitely not okay.
