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By: Ben (Hrm. I haven't the slightest how this...happened. It started out a war story, I realized how stupid and repetitive it was becoming...and I turned it into something insightful. Heh. Accidental meaningfullness rocks.) Thunk. Another one bites the dust. Literally. I think it was dust in those odd little bags. Some sort of grainy shit. Doesn't really matter, it's all the same at night. A scream? Shit. That meant one of them hadn't hit the bags. That or some smart-ass decided it would be funny to see what it felt to have a bullet wedged about four inches in their head. Well, that takes care of that. Just another body. Great. You know, it wouldn't be so much of a problem to see one of them shot down if I didn't have to walk on them all the time. There's always blood on my boots and on my hands. Either literally or figuratively. Goddamn. We've been down in this ditch for months now. It's not like we're doing any good, we're out of ammo and out of supplies. Now we're just little fleshy targets. Some of them are already jumping up, spreading their arms for the dark sky and waiting for one of the bullets to tear into them, rip their miserable little mud-soaked lives away from them. I really can't blame them, but I don't sympathize at all. Just another coating of blood. Thunk. Another one. Like little raindrops, they are, I swear. Except these little buggers are nice and pointed and metal and can rip right through you and keep on going as if nothing happened. Can't blame the damned bullets, though. I can blame the fuckers at the other end. I wish I had a missile. One of those giant warhead deals. That'd do them right. Instead of sitting here, each with our own little grenade, our own little kamikaze. We're all in this together, though. We're all ready to pull the pin when they finally get tired of giggling at our stupid little suicides and charge at us. Not like that'll end the war. If we go down, we're taking a few of the buggers down with us. Always. I sigh now as the bus does, and it comes to a stop, city in front of it, city behind it, city to its sides. Oh, well. I stand up and walk out and watch it rumble off. We're all in this together, I think again as I head off towards work, briefcase hung limply from my swinging arm, my head down. We all have our own little grenades. Who knows if we'll be able to use them. <~~Back to Stories |