Bang! Bang! bang! Bang! Gordon Leon, who was a soldier in the Viet-nam war was a draftee. He was fighting in a losing battle. However, the tall slim soldier had no idea. Nobody had a clue, all soldiers hoping that they would win the Viet-nam war. They had to think that in a way, even if they couldn't agree, they were fighting in it and had to have hope.
Leon's bright blue eyes were often clouded over with misery and loss, but yet shining brightly with hope. He was still young and hopeful.
He watched miserably as another person died before his very eyes in horror. His tall slim body trembling in terror. This time, the man who was dying was on his side, who he knew well and was his role model of sorts. This happen to be the sergeant major.
It was bullets from the rotten viet-nam troops that did it. They were fierce, they didn't care about the American boys nor were they very humane. Their aim was to murder as many Americans as possible. It was about finishing the americans and the southern viet-nam troops. The bullet sped towards the sergeant major rapidly, and deadly on track. The sharp tip flying closer and closer to his muscular and short body.
Sergeant major Same watched the bullet approach him through his green eyes helplessly. He attempted to dodge out of the way. Yet, the bullet went through and in to his body piercing him at a deadly speed. Hot red sticky blood flowed out from the wound, like so many before him.
It kept bleeding as more bullets came at him at once from the other side. His body was shot to a bloody pulp, and rendered useless. He fell on the battle field bloody and dead. Blood flowed rapidly and freely. Blood covered his body. His blood slowly adding to the red wet mess that was slowly turning the dirt into gooey mud. The bloody ground and his very own blood made his red hair even redder. It became less brightly brilliant and much more uglier.
Gordon had watched many people die in front of his eyes for a year now, ever since he arrived. After so many deaths in viet-nam it was traumatizing and unbearable. It was psychologically damaging to keep watching people die and their troops shrinking. He didn't only fear death, but after so many deaths for the sake of the war, to be defeated. All this work in fighting the enemy would be nothing, and the people who died would also be for nothing. it would be nothing to be proud of. The only thing to remember if they lost was that the deaths did not lead up to a victory and how shameful America was after all.
However it was even more dramatic when he had to watch his friends die. Sergeant major same was the final straw for Gordon Leon. Watching the man that was being shot at, then the bloody pulp that was his sergeant major was traumatizing. He froze in shock and many of the other boys was as unable to react as he was. Every one was traumatized at death, but especially after their sergeant major was killed.
Many million miles away in both time and distance a man stirred in bed, disturbed and frightened.
"Shit! It's more troops!" he shouted in a frightened manner. He quickly reached out and grabbed at the nearest object from where he laid. It happen to be his little black alarm clock. He was not thinking about what he had just grabbed or where he was. The clock to him was most definitely his most valuable weapon at the moment.
His mind still back miles away, where his physical body was definitely not. His mind was still set in an illusion where the Viet-nam war was still occurring in front of his eyes and in America Richard Nixson was still president. In his mind, he was not in bed at the moment, as he was over seas fighting for his life and struggling to live it. He was dodging the bullets, the enemy troops were trying to put through him in order to see him dead. To him at the moment, his life was at stake and it was important to survive.
He threw the alarm clock or his chosen weapon of choice against the wall. The alarm clock in particular had been very reliable. He had already thrown it across the room four times. It had not shattered and was still in a rather useful state. It lasted through his reactions after waking up from nightmares of scenes of the war years back in viet-nam, and that was the nearest object he could grab at. Occasionally, he didn't quite move the little table it was placed on far enough from his bed, before he slept so that he couldn't reach it or break anything in the morning. He must not have been careful again and moved that table too close once more and thus on this very morning he was able to reach it.
After throwing the alarm clock at his imaginary enemy across the room, he dove behind the bed to hide from his supposedly dangerous enemy. He curled up behind the bed whimpering.
His son Charles Leon who was a part time psychology student at a nearby private university had heard the exclamation from his father and the crash of the alarm clock against the wall, as it hit the wall after Gordon had thrown it. He decided his father must have woken up from his nightmare again, and so he ran to his father's room to see if he could help his father out. This was nothing new to Charles as he had been taking care of his father ever since his mother had died in a car accident six years ago. After the age of fourteen, he had to take care and look after his father. This was a frequent event, gordon would experience this traumatic episode on many occasions, and Charles helped him through every one.
He had been frequently late for school in high school, but knowing the circumstances his teachers understood. This lead Charles to his major. He majored in psychology, because he found his father's post traumatic stress disorder intriguing from experiencing the disorder everyday. Therefore, he decided to go in psychology to study people as a whole. He wanted to help people who had different problems, because of his father's condition. He wanted to help people who suffered to feel better about themselves. His two biggest inspirations was his father who despite his disorder live a life that was as normal as he could manage to make it. His other inspiration was his father's psychologist and now, a close friends of his father. His name was Alastor Taylor. He was a determined psychologist who served in world war II. He was an honest man in his seventies, who really sincerely wanted to help his patients. With these two great men, in his life, he had pursued psychology for two years and was quite knowledgable about psychology. Taylor was a good mentor and suggested good texts, which he read. Charles was forever thankful to the two men, as without either he might not have been a psychology major and a espiring psychologist.