Body of Art

Twelve years ago I dreamed of one of my many deaths.  For the first couple of years I dismissed it.  However, when September 11 occurred, I became scared and distraught.  Later on, I began to investigate my dream, and now I see it as a work of art.  Many forms of art lie all around, but the most interesting ones can be found in a dream of death that begins with the moment of suspense, through the will power of life, and the masterpiece end of defeat.

My canvas begins with myself and others lying asleep around a tan colored truck in a desert atmosphere.  I had long hair, and was dressed in a brown t-shirt and light brown camouflage pants, and suede untied boots.  Suddenly I'm running.  I'm running through the desert, houses, backyards, clothes-lines, climbing fences, and continue to run through more desert.  Before long, I was at an empty tavern.  It was cool and clean, and everything made of mud-brick.  I go out the back door and see my destination, but also notice a small brick wall that held my fate.  I am certain I can make it.  As I took off, everything shifted to the wall, and I seen them.  They wore turbans and robes and were all armed, and fired at the same time.  I woke up thinking; this is the coolest dream a high school senior can have.  For a couple of days in stayed on my mind.  Eventually, the dream was forgotten.

Twenty-six days after high school graduation, I went off to basic training and then a couple of other military schools until I arrived at my first duty station in Fort Hood, Texas, two years later.  Everything was challenging and great, and then the terrorist attacks occurred.  My dream had re-opened itself within my mind, and this time I understood it.  The second layer of my canvas is shown with more definition.  

We had only been deployed in Iraq for a couple of days, and arrived at our camp site, the night before.  After our morning chow, some of us had taken a morning nap.  We were neither in a hostile area nor a targeted location, and yet we were ambushed at sunrise.  The attack was so sudden, that no one was prepared, and everyone was dying.  I became so startled, that all I could do was run.  My body did the motions while adrenaline guided my mind.  I ran through a town of huts that were built into one another, and made of scraps.  Clothes hung in all directions, and metal fences were their shelter from the sun.  In the mist of what looked like a dumpster from above, there rang laughter and life all around.  Life, that of which I was trying to retain.  As I was racing through the homes, I couldn't help but feel free knowing that I was going to be safe, because beyond here is another camp.  After the town I came to a tavern.  Once inside I caught my breath and started to feel really good about how fast I got here, and it was cool inside.  I walk through, I imagined the people who come here, as I touch the tables, chairs and bar.  As I walk out back, I seen the entrance to another camp not too far away.  On my left is a brick wall.  I know for sure there is someone waiting to fire upon me, but my adrenaline is still pumping, and I am certain I can make it.  I tell myself that all I have to do is sprint past the wall, and I will make it.  Sprint past the wall as fast as you can.

The finishing touch of a masterpiece is what makes an artist proud.  Knowing that the artwork is complete and someone will love it.  The completion is what an artist works for, because it takes time, and even the artist can be amazed. 

           

Behind the wall were six men.  All waiting for anyone who were coming from the ambush.  She was the only one who had gotten this far, and they anticipated the moment to bring her down.  It could not have been in the tavern, or through the town, but here behind the wall.  They wanted her in action.  She was caught during her sprint, and had gone down in a quick and graceful motion.  Standing above her, they took in the sight of her lifeless body.  Death had not taken her face yet, for it looked as though she had fallen asleep in the middle of applying a bronzing foundation.  Her long dark hair lightly coated with sand, giving it a honey brown hue, and her body becoming boldly outlined with dark red blood.  Who knew death could be this beautiful.  This was their work of art, and they felt it was their best.

*I never had the chance to deploy, but was able to live vicariously through pictures that my old supervisor sent me.  Crazy enough, I did not like Okinawa when I first arrived, and tried to get deployed with my former unit, and all attempts failed.