The Sounds of War

I’m asleep. The bed is soft and cozy.  I’ve been asleep for a few hours at the very least and the bed is warm. Almost too warm. I can tell I still need several more hours of sleep before waking. Tomorrow is gonna be a good day.

Then it hits. Without warning. Air raid sirens. They’re loud and extremely disorienting. So much so that I am frozen in place. I want to move. I’ve practiced this in my mind a thousand times but it’s not going how I imagined it would. I guess it never does. So instead I opt for not moving until I figure out what’s going on. I’ll listen to what’s going on and develop a plan of attack. Yes. It sounds like it’s right on top of us. I rack my brain trying to remember where the air raid sirens are located. I didn’t know we even had them. Would they be at the fire department? My god they sound close. This seems like something someone would have mentioned by now. At some point someone should’ve said, “Ah yes, the air raid sirens are all over the county. There is one hidden in every neighborhood should we ever need them.”

Then I hear the sound of what has to be 10,000 men marching outside. Maybe twice that many. They sound angry. You can hear it in each step they take. The vibrations of their boots hitting the ground are shaking the house. Is that a helicopter? Oh my god what’s happening? Are we being invaded? Is there a coup? A rebel uprising? A light brighter than the sun is now making its way through my blanket to my eyes. I’m hiding under the covers but the blanket becomes noticeably warmer. I make a mental note that if I make it through this to find out what type of light that is. I want one. I guess they’re spotlighting the homes to find who they’re looking for or to roust us all up for an important wartime message. I imagine a general standing on top of a tank yelling at his new bleary eyed, spongebob pajama clad military, “Fear not, you can sleep when you’re dead.” Hopefully it’s for preparedness and we’re not being rounded up and forced into camps. I’ve read about that. I’m pretty sure I hear screaming. I start working out in my head my exit strategy. I’ve gone over this before. Mapping out where my family is located and where’ll we meet up. Grabbing my kids and wife and my stash of pointy sticks.

I don’t know what’s going on in the world these days. I should have been paying attention to the news more. I typically ignore it because it’s just people finger pointing and whinging at each other. That’s probably what they wanted from us the whole time. To ignore it all. Anonymous was right, that figures. I must have missed the precursor to this. Now I hear jet engine noises, then more marching and three sharp hisses that I can’t quite place. This can’t be good. I’ve never been in war. I don’t recognize the sounds of terror. I rationalized the situation to myself knowing it would be only a matter of time before I became too well acquainted with them. “Wolverines for life!”

Three more hissing noises. Odd. Terror strikes me deeply as I picture giant snakes that have been trained as military fighters. Just let me die here now before the army snakes get me. I start to edge my way under the covers to the side of the bed. I smell something sweet. Like flowers. It’s familiar. This doesn’t seem like a war smell. Where’s the napalm? I know this smell, it smells like, like my wife. I peek out from under the covers and there she is completely unfazed by the wartime noises going on. She’s getting dressed and ready for her day.

Oh.

All the lights are on and they’re on high. I didn’t know the bulbs had but one setting. Three hairdryers are running in the bathroom. I don’t know why. I can’t see her feet but it sounds like she has a cinder block tied to each foot. It also appears as if she’s not using her knees when she walks this morning. It must be too early for that. The air raid horn I now realize was her alarm clock that she’s had since the Cold War era. The screams I heard were the cries of the children she has awoken to get ready for school. I’m fully awake now. When mama is awake, we’re all awake. I realize it wasn’t a helicopter. She’s been talking to her surroundings. I am part of those surroundings but I’m the part that’s still in bed. So I am shamed.

I lie there in bed still slightly afraid with a pillow over my face waiting for my heart rate to come back down. My stash of pointy sticks will be safe and left alone for now. There will be no blood shed today. At least until my wife sees this written out.

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