Squirrels at Woodstock

Submitted into Contest #4 in response to: Write a story based on the song title: "My Generation"... view prompt

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General

An Aquarian Exposition: 3 Days of Hell and Noise!


I came to live here in peace, what do I get?

My Generation? Listen to them.


I thought I had found heaven. Living on a dairy farm a full fifty miles away from the torture of New York seemed like a paradise. It was.


Now what is going on? I stirred, shaken awake, the normally peaceful surroundings were now alive with action, bustle and people, trucks and tons of equipment. What is it all for? Birds no longer sang.


The last couple of days were bad enough, people were moving things, big things. The noise started early, banging, drilling and worst of all, shouting.


It soon dawned on me that worse was to come. They had erected stages. More people, this time not only scruffy but filthy too. The men’s hair was long and unkempt, the women’s hair was cropped and ugly. Admittedly, they were all working hard. 


Banging drums, thrashing about with electric guitars and the endless ‘Hello, hello, testing, testing’, with microphones. What is wrong with these folk?


Later there were endless processions of people parading up and down in my, my field. Lugging bags, backpacks and hookah pipes. Have I gone crazy or has the world?


A gorgeous young thing, still a teenager I guess, laid out some nylon, aided by a slightly older man, together they constructed a garish blue and green tent. 

“What would her mother think?” I asked myself.

Talking to myself is something I got used to. Now, I wouldn’t have it any other way, I even answer myself.


The V for victory was being flashed by people passing. Funny that, we didn’t see much victory in Viet Nam.

I had spent most of my time looking after people who could no longer, or had no intention of raising their fingers. War does that.

Occasionally I put soldiers out of their misery.


Richie Havens’ name was being screamed, who the hell is he? I wonder if he could play some Wagner instead? I doubt it. This gets worse.


Explosions of bad temper regularly disrupted my early life, fiery outbursts I thought these tantrums were behind me. It seems not. I used to kill things, pets at first, the hamsters were passed off as ‘not understanding how to care for them’, but the puppies were taken more seriously, I had to go to a special school. I was the only sane one there, and that included the teachers. 


Rage is bubbling and boiling under my skin. ‘What have I done to deserve this?’


My mind flitted back to Saigon. My family had decided it was better for all who knew me, that I serve my country. They drafted me into the medical corps. I served as a nurse, a wonderfully fitting job.


We saw a lot of pain, often caused by stupidity. Being smart and not wanting to be a hero, I remained well away from the action.


Lysergic acid diethylamide, you will know as LSD, or commonly Acid was locked in our hospital lockers. We saw lots of it, not by soldiers ‘having fun’ but combatants taking it under an order, or prisoners who unknowingly had some white powder added to their food. Our special forces were fearless, we, as medics knew why. They were given power drinks. 


Prisoners, both enemy and our guys, spewed out information, without painful encouragement. What are the ‘slants’ planning? Who were the ‘peace and loving’ GIs in our force? The guys that needed reminding why they were there.


The man passed her a joint, she took it, sucking hungrily, “Man, the music gets better.”

“Yes, I will get some Acid. You don’t mind do you? I know you can’t.”

“No, help yourself, I’ll stick with this thanks.”

The crumpled reefer had too much ash hanging. 


“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, my only problem is the toilets, too far and too busy.”

“Look, don’t worry, if you need to pee, do it behind the tree. Everyone will be smashed, they won’t care.”

“Just make sure I drink plenty of water, ok? It’s more important that I drink gallons, than embarrass myself by wetting my jeans.” 

She laughed, but not enjoying the humour. He nodded and grinned, knowing her kidney condition was not a joke.


Now I knew what I could do. LSD caused havoc to those little organs we call kidneys. Oh, what fun this will be.


The music got louder; the excitement increased. As the grey clouds descended on my shoulders, the only rainbows I could see were the seven colours on t-shirts and even hideous jeans. 


I couldn’t stop the noise, but I could ruin someone’s fun.


Calmly descending the tree-trunk, I crept into the tent and hid. Right on time he returned. Throwing a small packet next to his backpack.


Back outside he joined the others, shouting out the lyrics to a song fortunately I’d never heard before.


I have small hands, therefore carefully emptied the screwed up paper pack into her drinking bottle. Dusting my hands of white powder, I headed towards the tent’s flap.


“Oh look, a beautiful squirrel, isn’t she gorgeous?”

She? I could cry.

“Never mind the vermin, there is a new band starting.”


“Off you go baby, back to your tree.”

I’m going, but I want to watch this.


“Come on, they are playing.”

“I can hear, just need a drink first.”


The doctored water bottle was drained, the hallucinations started within minutes. That was the fun bit, but then the agony in her lower stomach and back, her boyfriend did not understand what was happening to her. She died in writhing pain, her friends danced around her and cheered the new moves. 


Did you know squirrels could smile? I was stuck in a furry body, for how long I don’t know. The girl had more peace than me, eventually they would move on. How many more would I minister to before they leave me in peace? 


My Generation ended. I committed suicide in Saigon two years ago. And no, it was not an overdose of LSD!










 




   

August 30, 2019 02:46

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