GENERAL ISAIAH

I can’t possibly imagine enduring the forty weeks of struggle and uncertainty General Isaiah has just faced.

Closed in, oblivious to the outside world, his only means of communication being his mother’s sweet, sassy and soothing voice, echoing in his head.

The tossing, the turning, the upside-down pretzel-like twist consuming him during many confusing, sleepless nights. The hunger, the pain, the craving for some sort of relief. Man, way too many obstacles for anyone to overcome just to breathe fresh air.

Only two people really know the true facts that led to General Isaiah’s capture. All that is known is one careless night of booze and drugs during battle will lead to major strategic mistakes.

Anyway it goes, the General had absolutely nothing at all to do with his current status, only abiding by the rules thrust upon him.

There’s no turning back now, though. Wayward on, son, wayward on.

Going along with the program, the General realized, rather instinctively, that in order to survive until he reached the outside world, he had to grasp for air on a limited oxygen supply and kick down the walls responsible for his confinement.

The General played the part of soldier to the fullest, earning his much ballyhooed release from captivity.

Now, he’s out.

Look at him.

Yep, he’s a soldier alright, the epitome of a soldier; tall, long, dark and handsome not to mention the mental toughness to match.

The doctors and nurses are the first to greet the General upon his release. They’re grabbing, pulling, and sticking all types of sharp, gleaming instruments in every nook and cranny from the General’s ear-hole to ass-hole.

They’re checking limbs, eyes and hell, those folks are even spanking the General, trying to get an emotional response from him.

Ah yeah, there it is.

A thunderous cry that could have been heard within a five-mile radius if not for the plexiglass windows and closed corridors.

Welcome, General Isaiah.

Wayward on, son. The world shall soon be your oyster.