(My take on a story by my friend who responded to this writing prompt: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5kxe94/wp_you_live_in_a_world_where_each_lie_creates_a/)
The sound of an explosion rocked the area as the line-up of soldiers watched the drill sergeant demonstrate throwing a live grenade.
“Underhand lobbing is far more accurate for shorter distances,” the sergeant instructed. “This ain’t baseball. You aren’t trying to hit someone with the damn thing – you’re trying to make sure it gets to where you need it to be for when it explodes. BEVYN!”
Private Bevyn stepped forward and stood straight. “Yes, sir!”
“Come demonstrate,” the sergeant gestured.
Bevyn looked at the grenade in the sergeant’s hand. “With…a live grenade, sir?”
“You’ll all be practicing with live ‘nades.”
“Is that…not dangerous? Sir?”
The sergeant frowned. “It’s dangerous only if you hold onto it too long or throw it back into us. We can’t let you practice with blanks because the weight is different. You ALL need to become used to throwing this within three seconds of pulling that pin. No hesitation. Are you coming here or not, Bevyn?”
Bevyn felt the eyes of the other soldiers on him, but swallowed and stepped to the sergeant. The sergeant offered him the grenade, which he gingerly picked up.
“I’m standing right next to you, so if you fuck up I’ll be seeing you in hell, do you understand?”
Bevyn nodded, staring at the lethal weapon in his hand.
“Good. Now, you can toss this surely? Not too heavy for you, is it?”
“No sir.”
“Right. All of you will be issued the same type of grenade if we ever take to the field so pay attention. This grenade is on a six second timer. Assuming you can toss it at least a certain distance away, you have three seconds after you pull the pin to get it the hell away from you. Good?”
The soldiers responded in unison, “Yes, sir!”
“Good. Now pull the pin and toss it into that pit, Private. Make sure you get it into the pit.”
Bevyn looked at the sergeant, then back to the grenade.
“Sometime today, Private. Everyone’s waiting on you.”
Pulling the pin, Bevyn quickly pulled his arm back and threw it towards the pit. As he watched the grenade leave his hand, the sergeant quickly snatched Bevyn and pulled him behind the concrete wall. A dull *CLINK* of the grenade as it bounced against the wall and not into the pit told Bevyn that he had missed, but before he could apologize the explosion rocked the area again.
“WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY EARLIER, PRIVATE? YOU THINK YOU’RE SOME BASEBALL PITCHER OR SOMETHING?” The sergeant shouted into Bevyn’s face. “UNDERHAND TOSS, NOT OVERHAND THROW.”
The sergeant looked at the rest of the soldiers, continuing his shouting, “DID YOU ALL SEE? PRIVATE BEVYN MISTIMED HIS RELEASE AND THEREFORE THE GRENADE WENT HIGHER THAN THE PIT. DON’T LET ME CATCH YOU OVERHAND THROWING UNTIL YOU’VE PERFECTED THE UNDERHAND LOB INTO THAT PIT.”
The soldiers stood at attention. “Yes, sir!”
“And you, Bevyn,” the sergeant spoke in a normal voice now, “Give me 100 push-ups.”
Bevyn entered his barracks, toweling his hair dry but wincing at the effort of using his arms. Calvin looked up from his bunk, throwing a bottle of water at Bevyn. It hit Bevyn’s torso and fell to the ground.
“Underhand, not overhand!” mimicked Calvin. “I almost want to say ‘that was a nice throw man’, but I don’t want to suffer blood loss right now.”
“Oh give me a break, Calvin.” Bevyn muttered. “I’m tired as all hell.”
Calvin got up and picked up the water bottle, tapping Bevyn’s arms with it. “You okay? Sergeant made you do more tosses than any of us even after those pushups.”
“I’m fine,” Bevyn responded absentmindedly, sitting down on his bunk. “Clothes back from the dryer yet?”
“Nah, they say the dryer broke so everyone’s clothes are delayed,” Calvin answered, tossing the bottle up and catching it.
“Oh. Guess I’ll be top-half naked for a while then.” Bevyn leaned back onto his pillow, groaning as he adjusted his tired body.
Calvin pointed at Bevyn’s bed. “You’ve got something else to clean now.”
Bevyn looked down, then groaned as he saw the fresh streak of blood on his sheets. Cursing, he checked under his arm with his fingers and they came back bloody.
“Those exercises must’ve hurt you more than you’d admit, man,” observed Calvin.
“I wasn’t thinking when I told you ‘I’m fine,'” Bevyn winced, trying to see under his arm. “Here, can you tell me how bad it is this time?”
Calvin peered at the split skin, whistling lightly, “It’s not too deep – it’s not like you intended to lie or anything. You always get it there?”
Bevyn covered the wound gingerly with his towel, attempting to pinch it closed. “Yeah. Always get the mark on my arms. You?”
Calvin shifted onto his left leg, pulling up his pants legs and showing Bevyn the scar above his thigh.
“Mostly here,” Calvin said, “but sometimes I get it under my chest. Right below the pectorals.”
“That’s a deep scar, dude. Honesty not something you grew up with huh?”
Calvin gave a dark smirk, “I grew up in a whorehouse. You think men go there to hear the truth? Nahhhhh.”
“Really?” Bevyn was surprised, “How do the… the women stay pretty if they’re…telling the men otherwise all the time? Can’t imagine sleeping with a woman and she’s clearly bleeding when she tells you how great you’re doing.”
Calvin fell back onto his bunk, crossing his legs. “My ma always told me she got around it by saying the things she knows to be true, and the men just ate it all up. The rest she just covered with paint.”
“Damn,” said Bevyn. “Well, I heard some men do that too. Cover up the scars with paint.”
“Like the sergeant?” Calvin asked.
“What?”
“The sergeant. You didn’t notice? No visible scars.”
It was another week before Bevyn saw the sergeant up close, and it was in the mess hall as they ate. The sergeant was sitting a table away with the other officers, and Bevyn stole glimpses at the sergeant, but there were no signs of any scars.
“You were right, Calvin,” Bevyn spoke hushly, gnawing at his bread, “No visible scars.”
Calvin shrugged back. “Paint?”
Bevyn frowned, glancing at the sergeant’s hands and neck. “Most men mess up with colors when they paint. If they paint, at all. He looks clean.”
The next day, it rained. But the drill sergeant forced them to run laps in the rain regardless.
When they got back into the barracks, Bevyn dropped his heavy pack and sank into his bunk, trying to comprehend how every part of his body could hurt.
“Bevyn, did you see the sergeant today?” asked Calvin from his bunk.
“Wasn’t paying much attention to him.” Bevyn murmured back, his voice muffled through his pillow.
“He ran with us without a hat.”
“So?” asked Bevyn.
“His skin was still flawless. It can’t be paint.”
Bevyn mustered up some energy, and then flipped himself.
“Wait, so you’re saying that the sergeant isn’t using paint, but has no visible scarring anywhere?!”
Calvin shrugged back at him. “I’ve seen women use paint, remember? Shit slides right off when wet.”
Bevyn was silent for a few moments, then said, “No way. Everyone’s gotta have a scar somewhere.”
“Well what if the sergeant doesn’t?”
Bevyn gave Calvin a sideways glance. Calvin stared back wordlessly.
“It’s probably somewhere on his body. It’s rare but I’ve heard of people who only get it on their torso…”
Calvin threw his pillow at Bevyn. “Come off it, man, everybody gets small scars elsewhere. You seriously think he only saves it for big ones?”
Bevyn attempted to throw the pillow back, but it fell short. He snorted at his own throw, but said, “Well you confirmed it yourself. In the rain, no paint, no scars.”
“I thought you were the one in doubt, Bevyn. Also, pick that up.”
Bevyn lifted his face, looking blearily at the pillow. Inching forward off his bed, he reached for it, snagging the pillow with his fingers and pulling it towards him. He lobbed it at Calvin this time, and it landed perfectly on Calvin’s lap.
“I’m sure he has a scar somewhere…” Bevyn began slowly.
“Why does it matter? You still mad he made you give us the example for that grenade throw?” Calvin snickered.
“Oh come off it, that was weeks ago. Plus I was the one that messed up anyways.”
“Going to show us how you’ve improved tomorrow at the practice?” Calvin taunted.
“Oh just you wait,” Bevyn got up, “I have sentry duty tonight but I’ll show you just how good I am tomorrow.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” Calvin’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Just don’t fall asleep after you pull that pin.”
Bevyn ignored that, choosing to get up and slip on his shoes. “Alright, going to change for my shift.”
“Where’s your shift tonight?” asked Calvin.
Bevyn rummaged under his bunk for the sentry uniform. “Officer dorms. Why?”
The lull in conversation made Bevyn look up at Calvin, who was wearing a mischievous grin. It dawned on Bevyn then.
“I’m not doing it,” Bevyn said flatly.
“Why not? Aren’t you curious too?”
“Not enough to peek at an officer, no.”
Calvin hopped off his bunk and pulled up Bevyn’s arm, inspecting it. “Serious?” Calvin asked.
“Do I look like I’m bleeding?” Bevyn responded dryly.
“Well, you can always change your mind,” Calvin shrugged, dropping Bevyn’s arm.
Bevyn grunted, but didn’t respond, turning around to put on his uniform.
“See you tomorrow.”
It was a bad idea and Bevyn knew it as he found himself stationed right in front of the drill sergeant’s dormitory quarters.
“You jittery, man. Need to pee or something?” his stationed partner asked him out of the corner of his mouth.
“Kind of. Not exactly.” Bevyn looked around, trying his best not to look behind him. Shifting his weight, he let his rifle lean slightly on his shoulder.
“Bathroom’s that way, by the way,” his partner offered helpfully.
Minutes passed, and Bevyn shifted a bit more. The earlier mention had made him think about his bladder. “You know what, I’m going to go to the bathroom.” Bevyn said.
His partner snorted, “Don’t get lost.”
Bevyn walked towards the bathroom, doing his best to not look towards the officer’s quarters.
After he finished his business, Bevyn hurried back to his post, but a light turned on in a window and he heard the sergeant’s familiar voice. Instinctively, Bevyn stood to attention, caught himself, and then hid under the window.
“I said, ‘no thank you.’ I can tend to myself. Are you deaf or dumb?” the sergeant’s voice carried out. “Now leave. I’m changing.”
Bevyn froze, cursing himself for being curious. He heard a door slam shut, and contemplated to himself. A quick peek, he told himself. Just a quick peek.
Setting his rifle against the wall, Bevyn peered over the window. The sergeant’s room was dimly lit, but Bevyn saw that the sergeant had just stripped himself and was wiping what looked like mud off of his body. Bevyn squinted, but saw no scars.
He was about to peel his eyes away but then the sergeant turned around, and Bevyn saw it. A deep scar, with tissue so pale it was almost silver against the surrounding skin, ran down the sergeant’s back along his spine. Just looking at it made Bevyn wince. Some people just had scars in terribly unfortunate places, and Bevyn could guess at why the sergeant was scarless elsewhere…
A loud clatter rang through the courtyard as his rifle slid and fell to the ground. Almost cursing his misfortune, Bevyn swiftly picked up his rifle and fled, even as he heard the sergeant’s voice follow him: “Who goes there?!”
“We’re practicing grenade tossing again, gentlemen. Line up.”
The soldiers lined up in unison in front of the drill sergeant. Bevyn tried to maintain his composure, but all he could think about was the sergeant’s scar.
“Now, we’ve practiced lobbing a grenade for a few weeks. But of course, throwing a grenade overhand gets it further. This comes in handy for long distance engagements. But as we all saw a few weeks ago thanks to Private Bevyn here, it also comes with a degree of inaccuracy. Which means we need to practice, practice, practice.”
“Yes, Sir!”
The drill sergeant paced around, then shouted, “Private Bevyn, since you did such a wonderful job last time, care to demonstrate again this time?”
Bevyn fought the urge to flinch, but stepped forward. “Yes, sir!”
“All of you, step backwards and just watch from afar. We don’t want Bevyn to kill our entire batallion, do we?”
The other soldiers stepped back as Bevyn walked forward to the sergeant. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Calvin make a wink.
The drill sergeant pulled Bevyn to him and spoke quietly, “I dug up the registry and saw that you were posted outside the officer’s quarters last night. Were you outside my window?”
Caught off guard, Bevyn stammered, “What? Sir?”
“Were you outside my window at any time last night, Private.” The sergeant’s voice was almost a whisper.
“No sir. Why would I be, sir?” Bevyn spoke. The sergeant stared at his eyes, then handed him the grenade and pointed to the pit he was supposed to throw it to. “I’m moving away this time, just in case you fuck up like last time, Private. Don’t fuck up. Walk up to that line, pull the pin, and throw. Overhand this time.” And with that, the sergeant retreated to where the other soldiers were standing.
Bevyn walked up to the line, breathing hard. He was slightly dazed about what had just happened.
“SOMETIME TODAY, PRIVATE!”
Pulling the pin, he pulled back his arm, glancing at the pit, and readying his throw. And then his arm felt an incredible pain as he jerked to the side, dropping the grenade.
“PRIVATE!”
Looking down at the live explosive, Bevyn hastily picked up the grenade and pulled his hand back, but it was too late.
It was a haze. The smell of burnt flesh singed his nostrils.
All he could hear was the sergeant yelling into his face.
“You’re gonna be alright, son. You’re gonna be alright.”
The sergeant got up and shouted to the rest. “Get a medic here, you dimwits! Are you just gonna stand there and stare?!”
But Bevyn’s eyes watched the sergeant’s back, as a deep red line soaked into the sergeant’s clothes. It stuck to the places where the sergeant’s spine would have been.
Monadic Storytelling 