I think this might have been a mistake. I probably shouldn’t be here. Recruit Private Darcy lay there alone with his thoughts on that stiff, worn-out bunk bed. It was his first night of basic training, and it had been a long first day, with strident howls coming from the drill sergeants who had begun their tasks of breaking down the recruits. The silence pierced throughout the open barracks, filled with young men like Darcy, each lost in their own thoughts about joining the military, thoughts of their families and loved ones back home.

Darcy took a deep breath, the air thick with the foul smell of sweat and flatulence from boys whose stomachs turned. His mind swirled with images of his parents and his home. He thought about that torturous question his dad had asked him before he left: "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

He thought about how, just a few days ago, he had left, his mother crying at the kitchen table. "Mom, you're being a little dramatic. Come on, I'm going to be okay," he had said, though he never believed those words himself. He had only said them to stop her from worrying. The truth was, Darcy was uncertain. He wasn't sure then, and he wasn't sure now.

As Darcy continued to lie there, he was jolted by the roaring sound of Private Dawson, who was in a deep sleep next to him. Darcy's breath quickened as he tried to turn off his thoughts. Still, the snoring from Private Dawson, which seemed like a chainsaw trying to start up next to him, made it impossible. What if I just put my shoes on and leave? What if I just walked away? Dad, I'm not sure anymore. I think I made a mistake.

Darcy could feel himself drifting away, but the snoring kept pulling him back, which kept his mind racing. I wonder if my parents are thinking about me. I can't leave. I just need to close my eyes and get some rest.

A cough, a slight relief for a moment as Private Dawson adjusted himself, and the snoring stopped. Oh, thank God, just drift away now, just drift away. Darcy slowly began to shut his eyes. The thoughts became miniscule, and he was carefree from his own voice that had been rummaging in his head.

I’m going to be okay now, I’m going to be—wait a minute. The thoughts grew large and loud and were mixed with that horrific chainsaw trying to start up again. Darcy's eyes widened, and knots in his chest turned.

To hell with this! Darcy sat up on his bunk bed, glanced down at the dark, open barracks, and made sure the fire watch was not around. He looked over at Dawson. “Dawson… Dawson,” he said as he gave him a slight nudge on his shoulder. Dawson was unphased, and every nudge only made the snoring grow louder. “Dawson... DAWSON!”

“Hey, shut up!” exclaimed a recruit who had been woken up by Darcy’s pleas.

Rage filled Darcy’s chest. “Dawson, please, I have to rest, I have to sleep so I can turn these thoughts off, but I can’t…because you…ARE SNORING!” With great force, Darcy shoved Dawson. Darcy, surprised at the force he had dispensed on Dawson, quickly rolled over to his bunk to pretend he was sleeping.

Dawson quickly sat up and looked around. “Huh?! What?” He instinctively glanced towards Darcy.

Darcy could feel Dawson's eyes on him but continued to play possum. It wasn't me; I was asleep. You just had a nightmare, and you're going back to sleep. Dawson laid back down. Finally, Darcy could feel his body at ease—peace at last. The thoughts began drifting away once more. The sound grew quieter and quieter until it was finally…silent.

White ghostly lights penetrated Darcy's eyes, followed by the earsplitting sound of thunder coming from a trashcan.

“WAKE UP MAGGOTS! PT IN TEN MINUTES! LET’S GO! LET’S GO! LET’S GO!” bellowed the voice of a drill sergeant.