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| Death by Fire by � artnsolitude Death by Fire-------------------------------- A soldier bangs on your front door with the butt of a rifle. He wears a uniform that you know, yet is somehow unfamiliar to you. The squad of soldiers he represents demand that you present yourself for inspection, identification and registration. Refusal means death, and you must comply this very moment. You hesitate too long, eliciting the wrath of the ranking officer. Your hands shake in fear as you are herded into the street. Your embarrassment becomes blinding, blood red rage as they strip you naked and line you up with your sons, your daughters, and your neighbors, also naked, in full view of the leering, laughing soldiers. You watch in helpless fury as they rifle through your belongings, tossing away your memories, your love, and your life as inconsequential, keeping only what will fetch a good price, or that will help them to re-supply their unholy effort, whatever that may be. You try to make sense of it, but your benumbed mind refuses to grasp the reality of what's happening to you. Soldiers are supposed to be for your protection. You realize that your country has done this to you. Policy has changed without your knowledge. You have lost control over your life - some bureaucrat a thousand miles away has decided that you need to be either disposed of, or removed, forthwith. An executive decision was made and since you're not strong enough to stand up to them, they have their way with you. The leader barks an order and several soldiers come forward with bayonets fixed. They crowd you, forcing you back with their blades, pushing you to stand bunched together with your family and neighbors, skin on skin, your privates parts rubbing obscenely on the people surrounding you - women on women, men on men, men on children. You realize that this bunching together is to save bullets when the soldiers open fire. You comprehend that an order has been given for you to be executed. Women and children wail in horror and fear, men clutch their neighbors tight in a mute attempt to comfort them. You experience the terror of anticipation of death. Your heart beats wildly, like a soldier's drum. All your good works matter not to your executioners - just the color of your skin, the God of your heart, or the nationality of your ancestors - and they hate you for them. You try to deny the reality of the guns as they are turned on you, your mind again refusing to believe that this could be happening to you, at the same time wondering why. The gun blasts are deafening as molten metal rips through the crowd. Your family and friends are falling, collapsing around you, riddled by wounds that spurt in crimson founts. The bullets find you. Your body is torn, bleeding. You're mortally wounded, and feel yourself falling on the still body of a small child. Such a beautiful child. Your lifeblood flows freely from a dozen gaping wounds, your body shredded by a far away, impersonal decision and the lead and copper that enforce the decision. Smoke from the guns fill the air, and you survive long enough to hear the sharp cracks of the officers sidearm as he fulfills his duty by putting a bullet into the skull of anyone who has the nerve to still be breathing. You're next. You feel the cold barrel press up against your scalp, then a sharp pain behind your ear. For a moment, you hear the dull roar of your brain's protest to the hot lead invasion, then nothing......You are no longer afraid��. art |