Moral Degeneration

Outside the sun was out. There was no garage. No snowmobiles or 4-wheelers. Only a bike was present. 1 bike. Obviously a female’s, it was light blue with flowers on it. 

 

“Where the hell is my shit?” I asked. I was currently in a maroon overcoat and knitted pink hat and scarf. A much larger size than I should be wearing. I didn’t know how the hell I was supposed to live there. 

 

Only some jeans and shirts my size in the house. Everything else had belonged to my mom. 

 

“Shitty ass rebirth shit,” I whispered. “Where is my reborn as a duke's son? Not back in my shitty life.”

 

Letting out a tired sigh I headed to the opening in the trees. I hoped it was a path, but the tall fluffy snow made it impossible to tell. In thick heavy pink snow boots at least my clothes matched as I trudged into the woods. 

 

In the woods of God knew where. Having some weird highly realistic hallucinogenic dream. Wearing women’s clothes. All of these were great indicators it was time to rethink my life. 

 

I was born in 1985. Drugged up mom. No one knew who my dad was. My life had started out a little rough. My first memory was sitting on my passed-out mother. She had fallen asleep on the couch and refused to get up. The whole burning my arm thing was a close second memory. 

 

Soon after that I was thrown into the system. An average kid, I had some people try to adopt me. But whatever I had gone through with my mom had fucked me up too bad for them to stick it out. 

 

It didn’t help she would show up every month. Talk about getting me back. I look back on it now and realize she was all talk. Some minor maternal instinct that told her she should want a kid. But her addict instinct was always stronger. Back then I thought she was telling the truth. I’d act out. Then be back in the system soon after. 

 

Around age 10 they stopped trying to place me. I’d been taken from my mom so many times that people weren’t interested. I fought. Yelled. Screamed. Cried. All the stuff you want when shopping for a kid, right?

 

I jumped between foster homes after that. It wasn’t till she finally passed that my life turned around. I met a good guy. He taught me what it meant to be a man. Went hunting, fishing, camping, and every other thing a growing kid needs. I was able to stop focusing on what my life should be like. Mom and friends, and focus on what my life could be like. There was no reason to not just disappear and go do what you wanted. Make your life into what you dreamed.

 

At 17 I went into the military. My foster dad tried to talk me out of it but he was proud either way. That was where I found my true family in the army. Your identity stripped. Forced to put up or shut up. We were all changed from strangers to family. Or at least the closest thing I had to it by that point anyway. 

 

9/11 happened a couple years before I volunteered. I was shipped off to Afghanistan to the lovely mountains over there. 

 

Sometimes it was hard to see a difference between America and Afghanistan. Granted there wasn’t as much snow or trees there, but still. The quiet mountain air misted in front of my mouth as I struggled to breath. 

 

“Fucking body,” I whispered. I was already sweating and breathing hard. This kid, whoever I was, was a weakling. 

 

I had died at the ripe old age of 38. A heart attack out of nowhere. I had worked out 2 hours a day for over 20 years. And that’s what did me in. Granted, I had been drinking heavily the night before, and hadn’t slept in weeks, but still. A heart attack? Now I felt like I’d have another as I stepped over an extra tall mound of snow. 

 

After leaving the military I was offered a mercenary position. The war in Iraq never ending, I didn’t mind going back and making real money as a merc. That was when I was able to shine. Mission after successful mission. 

 

Didn’t matter if it was extracting a specific target, killing a certain person, or blowing the shit out of a distinct hole. I did it all. I can’t take full credit, but I was there for all of it. 

 

By the time the war was dying down a little I had been all over the world. Money in the bank I took a break for once. I went back home. Stayed with my old foster father. Hunted, fished, watched movies, and grew bored out of my mind. 

 

A few weeks later I was back on another mission. Someone had kidnapped the vice-president’s nieces stuffed animal or something. I was on the phone negotiating its release while my team snuck in to slit the terrorist’s throat. 

 

War was everywhere. Information was bought and sold for millions. Telling people the correct combination of letters strung into words could mean a win or lose. Life or death. Paid or unpaid. 

 

“And now I’m facing puberty again,” I said. My dick was hard once more. “You’d think my blood would be focused in the muscles I don’t have.”

 

Letting out a sigh I caught sight of a cleared road far down the mountain. Very far down. A minor bout of vertigo hitting me as I tried to ignore it. 

 

“Even after all these years,” I said. Heights still freaked me out. In planes, helicopters, or skydiving I was solid as rock. As soon as I was on my own 2 feet and way up I was shaking like a guy with bombs in my shoes. 

 

“At least it’s nice out,” I said. Talking to oneself was one of many things I did to stay sane. 

 

Stopping in my tracks I asked, “am I sane?” I hadn’t asked myself that in a long time. The last time was when I had been covered in blood. A lot of it my own. Back then it had been questionable. Right now? 

 

“I think I am sane,” I said. Squinting my eyes I looked around. Everything looked real. Felt real. “Why would I dream about my mother in a place I have never been?” I had heard somewhere that you could only dream of people you had met. Was it the same for places? 

 

I always had a good memory. I doubted it would fail me now. 

 

“I really think I am sane,” I said as I started walking again. 

 

“I’m in my younger body. Supposedly. In America. Supposedly. In a different timeline…debatable. More information required.” I chewed my lip. Who hadn’t thought about what they would do if they could live their life over? 

 

“Fuck more women was always my answer,” I said. Not a virgin in my past life. My nightly comfort usually came from the charge by the hour variety. A selection from all over the world. 

 

My first love was a hooker. There was a reason you didn’t pay hookers for sex. You paid them to leave. Some liked to stick around and talk. 1 or 2 stuck around and I might have caught feelings. 

 

But the life of a merc wasn’t stable. You could spend months holed up somewhere. Spending night after night with someone. Then your target shows up and you’re trying to escape town before a lockdown. 

 

“Alright. Goal one. Fall in love for real? Do it right this time? Or go back to my old ways?” I asked. “More thought required.”

 

“At least it’s all downhill,” I said. I had made it to the road by that point. But the road went down and winded around the side of a mountain side. 

 

Not trusting that some idiot wouldn’t speed around the bend I walked through the ditch. Covered in snow it was harder but safer. 

 

“Ok, pro,” I said. “I am young. It’s easy to build muscle. I know the future?” I asked. “Possible?” I wasn’t sure what was going on. But things were different from my last life.

 

“Hmm more pros…I’m not as lazy as I used to be.” Who wasn’t a lazy ass as a kid? Video games, movies, and playing outside often got in the way of real work. 

 

“Cons,” I said. “I don’t know where the hell I am. And I’m fucking 14 again!” I yelled as my dick got hard once more. “This was a real thing? I don’t remember this at all.” I must have blocked out puberty. 

 

A car whizzed by going down the hill. No brake lights. I kept walking. Around one bend there was another and another. I continued to grow more excited at the prospect of this all being real. But as my muscles ached and my stomach growled I pushed the feelings to the back of my mind. 

 

It was getting close to dark when I noticed the town. More of a grouping of houses and small businesses. I didn’t understand how people could live year round in the mountains. Didn’t they know it snowed? Wasn’t it annoying to be trapped with nowhere to go for weeks at a time?

 

A diner was on the edge of the small town. White lights shined to show me the way. Speeding up I winced as a blister made itself known on my foot. 

 

Gravel underfoot I trudged along until the glorious sound of the bell on the door rang. I smiled broadly as an older woman waitress smiled at me. I knew the drill. Sitting at a booth I faced the exterior window. 

 

My body relaxing almost instantly I shivered for a moment. “What can I get you hun?” The older woman asked. 

 

“Coffee, black,” I said. My voice was still mid-puberty, it sounded very high pitched to me. 

 

I smelled the familiar scent of cigarette smoke wafting off of the waitress. In fact it was thick in the diner. An older woman was smoking one right in the open on the other side of the diner. I noticed the pack in the waitress’ apron pocket. “And one of those Pall Malls if you can spare it.” I smiled my best one at her. 

 

“Aren’t you a little young, honey?” She asked. 

 

“Not too young,” I promised. It had been over 15 years since I smoked inside of a diner. There were some things that brought the nostalgia back hard. 

 

The old woman frowned but slipped one out for me. Setting it on the table she also gave me a matchbox. “You’re an angel,” I said. Tear in my eye. My hands shook as I lit the match and sucked it down. 

 

My lungs cringed and I fought coughing. But the nicotine went through me in a wave. I shook with the feel of it. I exhaled slowly. The taste was awful, but damn it was good. Almost worth dying for the chance to taste it inside a 24-hour diner again. 

 

The old lady chuckled as I handed the matches back. Heading off for my coffee I pulled out the wad of bills I had gotten from my mom’s purse. The money was green. Numbers were obvious. I had $86 to my name. An odd thing was there were women on the front of the bills. None that I recognized. Why the hell my mom had fake money, I didn’t know.

 

Planning to dine and dash I would at least relax for a minute. Warm again I took off my hat. Standing, I unzipped my coat and groaned as I stretched. Shaking my body I had needed this. 

 

The cigarette was half gone by the time I felt like myself again. I was obviously 14. I felt sick to my stomach from just half a cig. Squashing the cherry in an ashtray I’d save it for later. I shivered as the coffee was set in front of me. 

 

“Thanks doll face,” I said. “You’re my savior.”  The old woman gave me a very odd look. A mix of disbelief and fear in her eyes. 

 

“Anything else?” She whispered. 

 

“Not right now,” I said, taking off the stupid scarf. She turned and rushed off away from me. Looking around the room there were 4 other women. A couple friends in their 30s. 2 separate older women. All looking at me. 

 

I became a little nervous. Did they know I didn’t have money? They couldn’t. Granted I looked homeless. But still. Who didn’t have $1 for a coffee? 

 

My fears heightened as I heard the siren of a cop car. The cherries on top shined on the buildings across the street. Then the brown Crown Vic screeched to a halt in front of the diner. 

 

I looked behind me for an exit. The waitress was standing there with a phone in hand. The old kind with a curly wire. 

 

“Shit,” I whispered as the bell on the door rang. A tall brunette officer walked in. Wearing a dark brown uniform it was tight on her body. Her hair tied back she looked around and locked eyes with me. 

 

I gave my best smile. She looked down as she walked directly at me. “Can I sit?” She asked. 

 

“Suuure,” I said slowly, more confused by the minute. “Be my guest.” She sat across from me in the booth. Her name tag read G. Manny. “Officer Manny, how can I help you?” My voice cracked involuntarily. 

 

“What are you doing here?” She asked. Her blue eyes stared at me. 

 

“Having coffee,” I said while taking a sip. 

 

“Why are you here in Mount Pleasant?”

 

“Is that the name of the city or the mountain?”

 

“The town,” she said. 

 

“I live a few miles up the road.” Pointing up the way I had come. “Decided to go for a walk.” The room was quiet around us. I noticed all the older women’s faces directed our way. 

 

“What’s your name?” 

 

“Russell Willard,” I said. 

 

“Any relation to Margaret Willard?” 

 

“That’s my mom,” I said hesitantly. The woman appeared surprised by the information. 

 

I was quickly putting things together. Maybe I really did never leave the house before today. Maybe no one knew me in this town. No cars were at my cabin. The only place in walking distance was this one horse town. At least as far as I knew. But why was that?

 

“How long have you lived with her?”

 

“As far back as I can remember,” I said truthfully. 

 

“Should we get you back up to your place?”

 

“No,” I said. “My um mother…killed herself. She struggled with mental health for years. Couldn’t take it anymore.” It sounded right. 

 

“Really? And left you to…”

 

“No, she tried to kill me too,” I said. “She disconnected the gas line while I was sleeping. I got out before it suffocated me. She did not make it out.” True or not. This was now the truth. 

 

“My lord,” officer Manny said. She was full on crying. “You poor baby.” Normally proof would be needed for an accusation like that. Her hand moved to mine. Tears in her eyes I put a frown on my face. Most people would probably frown if their mom died. I was frowning because I didn’t know what the hell was going on.