Maurice

The boys called Maurice Essie. No one knows why for sure, but it probably means S.C., for space cowboy. He didn't seem to mind. He had the same not-so-sane stare all the time, like he wasn't all there. Hell, you could call him a fagot, or shit for brains, or whatever...the smoke would pour out of his nose at the same, slow, demented speed. Either nothing got to him, or everything, we couldn't be sure.

They say Essie enlisted to improve his character, but twice nothing is still nothing if you want to look at it that way. He was most popular among sniper fire. It made him smile, and he liked the sound of a limp gook against the rows of branches; probably for his own amusement. He didn't make time for congratulations. They say he demanded the front lines because it frightened him most. You might say bullshit, but Essie regularly volunteered for cave duty and other unmistakable suicide attempts. I mean completely unaffected by fear. Probably not so bright either. Couldn't have been, a guy like that. Almost like he had nothing to lose. None of us really did, but he actually seemed to believe it.

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You guessed it. Tomorrow I load up on guns and ammo and play war games with the guys. It will be wet, gritty, painful, and exhausting...just how I like it. I can already feel the blood lust welling in my bones and the adrenaline shock that comes with knowing I'm about to be pummeled with a full-body assault of automatic fire. This will be fun.