<span style="font-style: italic">  Tick,  Tock,   Tick,  Tock,   Tick,  Tock...<br/><br/>Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored...</span><br/><br/>Scott's mind was blank as he watched the old fashion metronome beat back and forth, his every thought processing in time with the metronome. He was slumped over the counter, watching some spastic kid play with the electronic drum kit.<span style="font-style: italic">Hell, even I could drum better then that kid,</span>thought Scott.<br/><br/>The rhythm of the metronome slowly relaxed Scott, as he began to drool a little on the glass counter. He unconsciously closed his eyes, drifting off into a daydream. He didn't care, Ramona was in the back room doing God-knows-what, all the music teachers were teaching, obviously, so Scott was left alone at the counter. Why anyone would trust Scott alone is anyone's guess, however. He knows nothing of music, so a bothersome customer asking questions about the tuning on the snare drum or whatever the hell musicians ask about these days would make him look like a complete idiot.<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Rain. Mud. Sweat. Blood. Tears.</span>Scott had no idea which was which on his face, as he found himself face down in the dirt.<br/><br/>"LOVEWELL! You sad excuse for a human being you fucking maggot, get out of the mud this fucking instant!" A loudmouthed man yelled at him. Scott recognized the voice; the voice of the Drill Sergeant who tortured him for two weeks. He was Scott's personal devil, always there to catch a mistake and bark into his ear to do it again, and again, and again, and again.<br/><br/>Scott knew exactly what would happen if he wouldn't comply; it happens every time he finds himself back at basic training. Yet, something kept Scott down. He couldn't move a muscle, as much as he struggled. The man above him found this amusing and began kicking Scott while he was down, yet he remained to order Scott to stand up. "Get your ass up right now or God forbid I will personally put a fucking bullet in your face!" Scott could hardly hear the man over the fighting around him. As he struggled, it seemed to get louder, more intense. Finally, the Sergeant pulled out his personal handgun. He rolled Scott over with his foot; Scott could now see that the man's face was halfway blown away from a nearby explosion. The Drill Sergeant pointed his pistol at Scott, and<br/><br/>Scott screamed. His scream awoke the boy not far from him from his drumming frenzy, and his mother looked at Scott, both worried and angry. Scott looked around the counter to see he was surrounded with random papers, probably ones he received before he was sleeping and forgot to do whatever it was he was supposed to do with them. He rubbed his temples before gathering them up. The boy went back to his obnoxious drumming and the mother went back to looking through music books.