Forever the Colours by Richard Thomas

Bruno or something. Eh, up then, here we go. She’s looking over. Be calm, son, you can do this. Ah, don’t put your top back on. Well, actually, maybe you can because you’ve got no tits and that tuft of hair in the middle of your chest is nasty. But that don’t matter, don’t matter at all. I’ve had worse down Bogeys on an ’80s night, and they were fat as well as ugly. She’s coming over, shit, she’s coming towards me. Why is she putting her hair in a bun, or whatever you call it? Strange, but sexy in a grandmotherly sort of way. Look at the length of those legs, she must be six foot. She’s coming over, right into my bedroom and straight through the wall, how funky is that? Mind you, my dad won’t be happy; he’ll have to repaper again. Can you still get Power Ranger wall paper? She’s leaning over me. Well I’m gonna get a snog here. Wow! What lovely blue eyes. Eh, eh, hang on, where are you going? And there’s no need to shout. Is that Spanish or something? Yeah, oh yeah, she’s a sexy Spanish biker chick! Who’s that? Oh crap! Is that my old man? It is, damn it, and he’s talking to the biker chick and pointing. Shit! Dad’s coming over, he’s leaning over and putting a hand on my forehead .
    â€˜I don’t wanna go to school today, Dad. I feel sick.’
    The biker chick is saying something to him. Is she trying to chat up my dad? Slapper!
    â€˜He’s married, you know, to my mum, and he’s too old for ya.’
    â€˜Easy now, go back to sleep, there’s a good lad.’
    â€˜Sorry Dad. OK, I am a bit tired. I got blown up today, yesterday, sssomething. I got, got…’
    Darkness.
    I love camping. Camp fires, a bit of weed, some beer and shagging. Camping’s brilliant! It reminds me of when me and Dad used to go all the time at weekends. Mind you, I didn’t shag or smoke or drink then, not with my dad. That was when I was a teenager, with my mates. Oh no, me and Dad used to make fires and tell ghost stories and eat fried food, like bacon and eggs. Some of my mates used to take the piss, saying he was old fashioned and stuff. Well, he was old; he didn’t have me till quite late in life. But he’s still cool! He would tell me stories about his time in the national service, and about the places he was posted. He would tell me about the things he got up to in West Germany. That’s why I wanted to join the army in the first place, to fight for my country; defender of the faith and all that. Not actually like that though, is it, in reality? I mean, in reality it can be blood, guts, pain, fear and shitting yourself. Yeah, reality is a funny thing sometimes. Anyway, camping! Yep, I love camping, always have. Sometimes though, it can be bloody uncomfortable. Like now. This camp bed is proper lumpy. And why is it when I open my eyes, it looks like I’m under water? Talking of water, my mouth feels as dry as a Pharaoh’s sock!
    â€˜Hello,’ Tommy croaked. ‘Hello, is anybody there?’
    No answer.
    Tommy was lying on his back. He opened his eyes again. Oh wow! he thought, I feel stoned. He tried to focus his gaze straight up, and he could just make out what looked like a khaki-coloured roof. After a few more moments of blinking, he realised it was a tent roof; he could also see the cross pole. Trying to recall how he came to be staring at the khaki-coloured roof of a tent, he suddenly remembered that he had been hit by a banger – idiot! It was an RPG. Right then , he thought, I must be injured. Yes, that’s it. I’ve taken an injury and that’s why I’m here. This is a hospital tent, then. But I can’t be that bad because the lads were taking the piss, weren’t they? You know, bringing me in on a cart instead of a heli. Ha! Very bloody funny, that.
    â€˜Oi, can anybody bloody hear me?’ Tommy said, louder this time. ‘I’m gonna die of