Wednesday, October 11, 2006

The future
Things have changed and I will be heading to a new location soon. Where I'll be going I can't say, but I know I won't have much access to net for a few months.
It sucks, since I just Like started here not too long ago, but, it's my job, so I must go.
I've still got a bit of time before I leave, can't tell you when either. The best way to tell is whether or not I've commented on your site at all for a week.
I'll do my best once I am gone to try and post and/or drop by sites but I can't geronty anything. The best I can do is ask not to be droped from your friends lists.
War's hell. And I don't even get a T-shirt.
I ask again not to be dropped from your friends lists.

Anyway, without further adu, I will post something I came up with today in light of the recent events.

***
Howling wind sweeps across the pale, barren land. The sound of footsteps break through the wind; one person, no, wait, two. They race each other. I count down the seconds till they reach my line of sight; 10, 9, why am I out here, 6, 5, is this really my battle, 2, 1. I lick my lips and pull the trigger. The blast rings in my ears as I watch the lead man fly back as the bullet shatters his skull. The other man searches through the dust to find the cause.
But I am not there, I must keep moving. I run, hunched under a worn cloak, to a different position to await the other. I can hear the light rustle of gear as the man closes in behind me. I turn and aim at the distorted figure; who will pull the trigger faster, I wonder. We stare at each other, unmoving, silent. My heart races, my mouth dry; is this it?
An immeasurable amount of time passes, yet still we sit poised to kill. Why are we out here? A smile crosses my face, I know now. I stand up and look at my enemy level in the eyes. He’s trembling, scared of me, or of death. But I have something the young man doesn’t, a hole. The blast echoes across the plains and the man falls to the ground, blood seeping from his chest.
I stand over him and watch as his life slowly drains away. Laughter echoes in my head; my laughter. That is why I am out here, that is why I fight a battle that is not mine. The man weakly reaches for something in his pocket; I squat down and reach in for him. It is a picture, family most likely. I look at him, my face contorted in twisted pleasure, “Such a pretty family. It must pain you that you will never see them again.” The man gasps for breath in answer, “But I’ll be kind and send them your way soon enough.” I take out my zippo and light the picture on fire, “Once I find them that is.”
The man sobs his last few breaths and falls silent into death. I search over his body looking for anything of value, but find nothing. I take his ammo, his knife, and what little rations he has. It is a long journey to the next town; I look at his ID and sigh. He lived across the border, I guess I can let it go.
The sand grates as I stand back up and step over his body. I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve slept last. Putting one foot in front of the other, I start back on the path I had chosen. I hope I can find work there, I get nothing from these pleasure outings.
My ears perk at the sound of an engine; maybe I won’t have to walk. It is close. I begin to run toward the sound, my legs lack balance and I almost trip a few times. I’m getting closer, I should be able to see it. I raise my weapon, ready to kill the driver. The vehicle seems to shake as I run, staring through the weapons sight. I pull the trigger and watch as the passenger tries to steady the sudden change in situation. I fire again, the passenger crashes back into the side window; into his own brain matter.

Dust trails behind me as I drive off to the town. This kill was more rewarding. Not only did I get a truck, put also some cash. I love this, all this pointless killing. I don’t know why, couldn’t care less either. I think war is only kept alive because of people like me. As long as I have a job, that is.

***
Thank you and I'll do my best to make sure that you know I am alive once in a while.
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