Micah Park Biffle

   A Morning Hell    Time is running out, the bomb has only ten minutes left, what do we do?"  Says Jermaine as he looks to the weave of wires.  With his weapon in hand and keeping eye down the hall way from the exit of the room, Cash responds, "I don't know...I don't know."   Jermaine, staring at the bomb with beading sweat he looks over at their downed friend Cruise, his lifeless body lay slumped against the wall with his back. His head settled into his chest as blood dries from a wound just below his heart.  Jermaine looks back at the bomb, it's time ticking away, counting down their lasts breathes. Jermaine, rushes over to Cruises body and looks for the bomb diffuse manual, a small manual with overall tips for certain explosive designs.   Jermaine fumbling through Cruises body, "Maybe there is something on that stupid manual Cruise had." Wiping away sweat he reaches into Cruises left chest pouch and finds t...

A Soldiers Release   Drunk from last night, Sergeant Calcus wakes with incoherence to a rumbling just outside his room. He stumbles from his bed and rests his drunken body against the window that faces outside. He looks, his eyes wavering back and forth.  Looking down into the empty street and there he sees something. At first, it is a blur, his mind is not yet fully awake from his stupor. He then drops an empty bottle of whiskey he had been clenching  and uses his hands to block the streets lights reflecting on the window.   He places his eyes beneath his hands and looks further in detail what he is looking at. Adjusting his sight, he finally sees what it is. Its is a helicopter, a helicopter had landed in the empty street just on the other side of his room.  Confused, he looks at his watch, it reads, O-Three-hundred hours. He looks back at the chopper and watches with intrigue. As he watches he sees two men exit. Both wearing pilot unif...

A Courageous Purpose  He was only nineteen, much like those around him; he was lost in what life was and where he should go. High school was over and the doors of life were open. He was overwhelmed at the thought of opportunities; but something in him drove him from the average path. The choice to get a job or to go to college were dreadful thoughts. The idea of being placed once more in a room with a teacher. Listening to what mostly likely would have no interest in his heart nor mind; was agonizing to him. The mere thought of sitting at a small table stacked with books drew a nauseating urge from his gut. Boredom followed beside this nauseous feel. Though he felt no desire for either a job or school, he had to make a choice. His fathered gave him three , go to school, get a job, or move out. All three of those were dreadful angles of thought. Each tied a knot inside his heart, constricting his conscious will to create. But though he be a man of a creative mind....

The Flavor of War A roaring crowd of excitement and love. The return of fathers, sons, and brothers. Relief is the scent of the heart in this beating moment. At least, that is what it seems to be; but returning from the horrors of war, many are broken, but unaware. Shadows drag behind closed eyes as they speak with loquacious tongues. Creating seamless memories to haunt with vivid realities. Tones of hell creep from the guilt that putrefies the soul. Rotting it with inflamed shame. Coating the mind in endless darkness as pale eyes gaze with memory. Calling out the shadows that be the ghosts of battle. Flashes of heat engulf the body at rest; waking in an alert of anxious recollection of what one hopes to omit with the passing of time. But hell knows of no such passing. It embodies itself in the pasture of mind and body. Entangling with depraved taste for madness. Boiling the mind in copious memoirs of terror; the actions of man. Blood curdling from lungs, limbs severed from...

Veteran Crisis Line The Scar of War And His Suicide To Escape It  He returned with a heavy heart. With a fierce storm raging in rain, thunder, and dark clouds. Memories of war collided beneath his chest. His lost brothers he could feel in the very bones of his soul. Nothing felt the same in this place he called home. No words could describe the surmountable anguish that tore each second at his mind, creating a vast chasm. Loneliness slowly consumed him. Leaving him branded as a mental case, coming unhinged to reality. Drowning in the constant flavor of hops. Leaving no moment to be sober. Covering the storm with another, that if the fog became to thick to see, then his pain did not exist. Flooded with anxiety of what he left behind in the chaos of war. He could not escape the nagging of all the thoughts he prayed to forget. Tarnished he felt, guilty, burdened, he felt far from a hero. Though each friend, each member of his family embraced him as one. And on each night ...