Mondays

Timothy Martin hated Mondays. They represented the beginning of an incessant flow of homework and “Yes sir, no sir” that seemed to consume his life. He wanted to be outside, playing football and going to the beach, all characteristic of an eighteen year old boy. He hated his classes, math and science just a blur of x’s and y’s that ran through his mind like water through a sieve. He dreaded going to college, or finding a wife, let alone settling down. His dad was a professor, his mom a social worker, both of whom had found their niche in society, and expected their son to do the same.
But Timothy Martin hated Mondays. The monotonous bell continued to ring in his ears long after class had begun, a continuous buzz of annoyance, a whining reminder of the bright, mirage-like day outside the gray walls of his school. And then, Timothy Martin’s country went to war.
Freedom from the never-ending Mondays! A release from the bondage of the unceasing routine that seemed to shackle his spirit! Timothy Martin was swept away by the force of how such an occurrence could jolt his stagnant life back into the river of society! A pressed uniform, adorned with rows of shining buttons, each winking like diamonds on the field of battle! Timothy Martin was the first in line at the registration table that morning, making sure to skip math and science.

*

Finally! Lieutenant Timothy Martin was being upgraded to serve on the front. Now, thought Timothy Martin, now I’ll see some action. And so, young Timothy Martin readied himself for battle, sprucing up his dingy gray coat, and attempting to polish his permanently scuffed boots. No buttons danced in the sunlight when Timothy Martin took up his gun and grenades.
And suddenly, They were upon them. They, the enemy, the traitors, the murderers. And Timothy Martin realized he did not know Their name.
Men began to fall all around him, their faces permanently frozen into masks of pain and fear. Blood blossomed like a flower on the chests and legs and arms of Timothy Martin’s fallen comrades, and Timothy Martin began to wish feverishly for Mondays.
He began to yearn for math and science, x’s and y’s. He longed for beaches and football, college and parents. And most of all, Timothy Martin begged for the ringing of the school bell to replace the pounding of the drums and the beating of his heart.