Quest for Pain (standard:drama, 3152 words)
Author: Hulsey	Added: Jul 03 2002	Views/Reads: 4108/2660	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A British pilot is shot down close to the Syrian border and is captured by the Iraqis.

Hyde Park London 2001 He looked at the children, but ignored them, when
they mocked him. Within his fragile mind, he was not in London, but in 
Baghdad. He was still a prisoner, and the suffering would not cease. 
The uncaring children mocked his walk, as they waddled along on the 
balls of their feet, the tramp oblivious of their cruelty. 

His attire hung off his wasting body. His old RAF jacket had seen better
days, and was tied around his waist with a bit of old cord. His 
straggly, unkempt hair and beard were in dire need of a shampoo; the 
lice having found a new home. 

He walked across the park towards his favourite bench, the passers by
giving him a wide berth. He relished the hours that he could relax on 
the bench. It was a welcome change from his cardboard box. 

Mark Cochrane looked up to the blue sky and screwed his eyes up at the
blinding sun, the same merciless sun that had scorched him in Baghdad. 
After returning home to London, Mark was offered rehabilitation and a 
measly sum of compensation. Is that all that he was worth, after giving 
so much for his country?  He attended rehab for a few weeks, before 
giving up on it, as they had given up on him.  What did they know? They 
weren't there were they? 

His wife, Judy had been understanding at first; unlike his three
children, who were a little withdrawn at the change in their father. He 
used to just sit for hours, rocking in his chair and staring at the 
wall. 

Judy had often tried to get him to go to bed at night, but often found
him stooped over, his hands on his feet. Sometimes, he would be like 
this for hours. Judy had contacted the rehabilitation services, who 
conveyed to her that he would no longer cooperate with them, so they 
were unable to help. 

Finally, she turned to a psychiatrist, who talked to Mark, but he would
not listen and was unresponsive. He would just look through the shrink, 
as though he was not there. If Mark spoke a dozen words a day, she was 
lucky. She realised what he must have gone through, but after three 
months, she decided that she had had enough. Enough of getting up 
through the night and cleaning his waste up, as he refused to use the 
toilet. 

His condition was deteriorating. Quite often, she would catch him
sticking pins into his body, and even burning himself with matches. One 
night, Judy witnessed her husband pulling his own teeth out with 
pliers. It was as if he craved the pain. The funny thing is, he did not 
seem to feel it. She had even found a leaflet in his pocket from a 
massage parlour, which advertised macho-sadism. 

Judy did not know him anymore. She had married, Flight Lieutenant Mark
Cochrane; a bright- eyed, handsome man, with a wicked sense of humour. 
The man she was married to now, she did not know. He refused to eat and 
his body was wasting away. He eventually gave up washing himself and 
his body odour was too much for her to bear. She came to the inevitable 
decision that she wanted a divorce. 

Mark never contested the divorce; in fact, he never said anything. His
psychiatrist believed that he was insane, and thought it best for him 
to be incarcerated into an asylum. It never happened. Mark, one 
morning, left home, his destination unknown.  The police looked for 
him, but abandoned their search after a couple of days. 

Judie soon got over her loss, and her lover, the psychiatrist moved in
with her shortly afterwards. 

Mark frowned, when another man vagrant sat beside him on his bench. This
was his bench, and nobody but him could use it. 

“Lovely morning isn't it?” asked the old stranger. 

Mark never responded. He bent over and clasped his ankles. 

The tramp frowned. “You into that yoga then?” 

Mark rocked back and forth, humming to himself. 


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