'Benefit Thief' By Blood In The Sand. 1st Posted Oct 5th 2010

Originally posted here by Blood In The Sand

It was Wednesday, free money day, a reason to get out of bed. So I did. I then wandered down to the post office and stood in line with old dears posting mittens to grandsons, businessmen posting invoices and mums paying the gas and electric.

There were tuts and frowns of course, I mean I was 23 years old. Should have been out grafting, earning some wedge. A smartly dressed middle aged woman even said as much. 'Young man, hang your head in shame. I've never claimed benefits once.'

I looked at her and thought of my mum. I then grabbed my free money and bought 20 cigarettes with it. This didn't go down well with Mrs Average. 'Well how pleased am I my taxes pay for your cigarettes. I suppose you'll be off to the pub to waste the rest?' Her voice was raised and it brought disapproving looks and more tut-tutting from others.

I closed my eyes. Screaming, terror. My friend holding a severed head in his hand, 'Do I bury this mate or just bin it?' I looked at the attractive lady and smiled at her. 'Fuck off, you civvy cunt before I gouge your painted fucking eyes out.'

The man behind the counter took offense and joined the fray. 'Steady on son, there's no need for that.' I spun round to look at him and he saw for a brief moment the hate and pain inside my head. He went back to shuffling the papers and I went to the pub.

I should have been out looking for a job, instead of pouring whisky and beer down my throat. I felt bad about my unkind words, then I remembered faces shattered by metal and ordered more whisky.

That night I sat on a stool, pissed out of my head with a rope around my neck trying to find the balls to save the taxpayers some cash. But I wasn't brave enough. So I cried about the war for a bit, felt sorry for myself and I hung my head in shame...

Lest We Forget

Breakdown By Blood In The Sand 

Nine nine nine, the phone rings. 'Emergency which service do you require?' a female voice, metallic uncaring. Flashes in the night sky and I am there again.

'Fucking all of them, and make sure Plod has guns. I'm going to kill someone.'

Silence, then a cough. The woman composes herself and sighs.

'Hoax calls...' I cut her off mid sentence. 'Fuck you love, fuck this country, fuck the world. Tell them to bring guns.'

The television had shown troops in yellow swarming across a desert. Hazy green images, night vision. Tracer spiralled into the sky and my mind broke. My girl was 8 months pregnant. New life grew in her belly and children were dying again, because we are at war again.

I walked away from the news, out into the world and made a phone call. I couldn't breathe and my chest pounded. Small arms cracked in the distance, in my mind; then children ran past giggling. I screamed at them.

'Stand To'

They laughed some more and I ripped off my shirt. 'Fuck off... DO IT NOW' The kids ran and I fell to my knees. I didn't know what year it was and I thumped the tarmac to prove it wasn't sand. A cigarette and a moment to reflect, time to think.

An old lady wandered over. 'Are you OK love?' I shook my head and pushed the burning cigarette into my face. 'They're all dead' I started to laugh, got up and ran. Fear filled my veins, ice water. I found a bar.

Walking in unable to think straight. I must be dreaming. Kids are dying and folk are laughing, playing pool, drinking cold beer. What year is it? I ask a man and he laughs at me, they all do.

I am semi naked, burnt and frightened. I see a mans face, tattoos and anger. Fear becomes blurred and violence erupts. The pub is now silent and I am insane with terror. 'Where's my fucking weapon?' Blank faces, blue lights.

Two female Police officers ask to speak with me outside. I nod and allow them to handcuff me. Outside men are waiting, yellow jackets and flashing lights. I'm pushed into a wall and it hurts.

In the Police Station a Sergeant asks me my name, I ask him what year it is. He tells me to stop being a prick. I ask him again. His patience is worn and he tells his men to take me to a cell.

They want to take off my boots. I see a dead boy, one boot shredded. Dirty toe nails, thick black hair and no face.

'You're not having my boots'

A fist slams into the side of my head and my wrists are twisted against the cuffs. I scream and punches rain in. I cry out as I get beaten. On the floor now, kicks and more punches. I vomit and choke. Darkness comes.

I wake up, more fear. Panic now sets in, so I bang on the door. 'Shut up you dick' unseen voices taunt me, as I plead for water and my meds. I need the pills that stop the terror. 'Help me...'

I am given a cup of water. I beg the hand delivering it to call my Doctor, call my mum. I need my pills. Laughter and words are what I get 'Not so brave now are you?' I'm told to piss in my cell, so I fill the cup.

I bang at the door, again and again. Discipline, the will to go on, I still have this. The hatch drops and the Sergeant speaks 'I'm getting bored of you sunshine' I launch the piss at him, howling a war cry.

They leave me on the floor crying, broken. More fists and boots crashed in and I am ready to surrender, all fight now gone. I go inside my mind. I pick up a severed hand, cold and stiff. I wave it at the boy with no face and dirty toe nails. The car full of dead people has a flat tyre and I laugh. Who's going to change that?

Then I scream. Over and over. Men come in and walk out and still I scream. A woman holds my hand and I scream. My Doctor sits in the cell so I scream at him. As I shuffle out I look at the Desk Sergeant. I mouth a word at him and he looks to the floor, 'Soldier'

Blood In The Sand's Story

It is morning and I lie in bed staring at the broken light hanging from the broken fixing. I should get up, make some tea, eat and venture into the world but I can’t. I’m too scared. I close my eyes and leering faces with no lips scream at me and I begin to cry.