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The Twin Bed
Deafening ordinance explosions came in wave after relentless wave. Chunks of muddy hillside flew in every direction. A blast, too close to his right side, erupted in a plume of fire and mud. The intense heat seared the flesh of his forearm like steak on a hot summer grill. Bobby's fear rose as each strong struck closer and closer to his side. The explosions were too random, and always too close. He pushed forward up the hillside because he had to. He pushed forward because his fear of the next blast would not let him remain still.

The hillside erupted once more, directly in front of him. The concussion from the blast sent Bobby flying backwards like a movie stuntman. The immediate pain was all too real. The ground he landed on gave very little. The impact was strong. Jagged edges of upturned earth clawed deeply into the soft muscle and sinew of his back. Bobby almost giggled as his vision fogged and his consciousness faded. Through his dirt and blood stained lips he mumbled, " This mountain mud isn't as soft as I thought."
*
He shook awake violently. The beat up old mattress and bed frame squeaked and stretched in protest to his spasms. Bobby's back arched high off the bed. The spasms were endless. They burned, penetrating deep into his soul. He cried out in pain. He cried out in fear. His childhood bed had become his hell on earth. He could see no way to escape it.
Slowly, the spasms eased. Slowly the grip on his nerves and muscles relaxed as if guided by a macabre intelligence that thrived on agony. It knew there was a bit more pain to feed on. There was more suffering to delve out to the man-child. It drained away Bobby's will as it fortified its own.
The seconds ticked away more slowly than outside the drab blue of his childhood bedroom. Time had lost all meaning to Bobby on that South American mountainside. The tears that streaked his vision began to dry away on his red, raw cheeks. The dingy morning light grew brighter. It was not the bright blue and white of a happy morning sky. It was the flat lifeless blue that had covered those plaster walls all of his life. The color had faded greatly since his since childhood. The thick tan shades only let in enough light to show how drab the paint had become. They were stained dark with nicotine from his cigarettes.
He struggled to regain his hold on reality. The nightmares were always stronger than he was. Sweat drenched his tee shirt and matted his hair to his forehead. The pain in his back and

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