Tag Archives: war


One of my plans was put into effect today. A battle plan that is. That’s what I do. My job. I work for the military.

On TV, on the news, you always see all those guys running around, tanks going here and there, aircraft swooping to and fro. They never tell you really, but those things don’t happen on their own. Every piece on the board, from pawn to king, has a direct designated place he goes and thing he does, everything is scripted. Really all you see out there is a theater production on some grandiose scale. The tricky part is scripting the guys on the other side.

The show must go on, they always say. And yeah, it always does go on. At some cost though. The show works a little different out there. It isn’t just for fun, or for a review, for ticket sales. It isn’t just to entertain an audience or inspire a thought or aspiration. It is about lives. If you respond the wrong way, if you get “stage fright”, if you miss a line and have to improvise, it doesn’t just mean you’ll be in the paper the next morning, mentioned in a poor review. You’ll be in the military obituary instead. They will say you were “struck down in your prime by a foreign menace”, They will say you died “bravely in combat” or “in service of your country”, but that’s a sugar coat. That is an easy answer, that is the easy take miracle pill. It isn’t the truth. The truth is that your son, your daughter, died because of me. I killed them. Their script told them to go to Point A. They went to Point A. But Point A was under artillery fire. Or there was a tank at point a that was pointing at them. Or a pilot missed his mark on a bombing run, and Point A is nothing more than a crater. People make mistakes, right? Life is all about learning from our mistakes, isn’t that it? Continue reading


Pale plastic bodies
On Sandy shelves.
A story
written in red.
The wound of the earth
Spills the blood of the dead.
Violent lies and settling scores.
Men disagree.
That’s what bullets are for.
The human art.
Torn apart.
A game
a lie,
Faceless sides
Splattered gore.
Innards swollen from summer heat.
Rancid smell of rotten meat.
The drummer beats
His lonely soldier’s tune.
on the beach.
Inside of death’s grip
Hearts sputter and skip.
And halt.
Through blood loss and dismembered fingers
Death’s toll lingers
In the ears of those who remember.
A crime of guilt.
Hatred built
On foundations of confusion.
The common illusion
Of seeking justice
Posted on a bloody crucifix.
A need in us
for regret.
Betrayal of the self.
Bodies on a sandy shelf
Statistics, left on the battlefield rotten,
Historical repitition to be forgotten.
A lesson unlearned
Suffering earned
An unsettled score

Soot and Man

Slipping the rope around Our neck.

Broken bonds and unpaid checks.

Ripped up, burning in fire places,

Filling high up spaces with darkened traces

Of swirling smoke from chimney.

Soot and ash float down upon me.

I brush my shoulders clean,

Keep to my search for a land forever green.

Some land beyond black soot,

Beyond my wildest dreams.

A sliver of a plain, a peace-filled stain

Upon a blackened world of soot and man.

Our world where we feed Our fires as fast as we can

And disregard the forming plan

Of Apocalypse and coming doom.

Digging mass graves that will forever loom

Upon Our charring landscape,

Hungrily gaping,

Waiting and waiting,

For the day we throw Our selves from the cliff,

And into the mouth of Our burnt out pit,

Formed of Our actions that we deemed fit.

Destroying those delicate seas of green.

Planting seeds of War upon uprooted Peace.

Chapter Six- The Embers of Hope

There are things that set a professional aside from an amateur. A professional knows exactly what he or she is doing, and reacts as such. A professional attends to his or her business with unflinching accuracy and skill, flawlessly carrying out the duty that said he or she labored over learning. The gunfight before me was professionalism in its purest form. 
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Chapter Four- the Point of No Return

I vomited. Everything was a blur. My consciousness was slipping. I was a murderer. My mother was dead. I had killed four, mercilessly. I had fought two professional killers, and won. I had survived 3 gunshots and a blade wound. How did all of this happen? How was I alive? Continue reading

Chapter Three- A Killer in Wait

I sat in the kitchen. My own blood had puddled. I attached my newly acquired sleevegun to my wrist. It was a dull, faded black. Designed to dwell in the long sleeves of a man, its camoflauge minimizing the chance of perceiving the deadly creature coiled inside. A viper. Hiding away, waiting to strike, suddenly. To pounce on its victim, a killer in wait. Continue reading

Chapter One- a Broken Home

I was hurrying home. It is unwise to linger anywhere in District E3. Dangerously. I knew that a couple of gangs would be roaming the streets now that Institution was out, and it was only a matter of time before the Guards would begin appearing in the streets, on rooftops, poking their long-snouted rifles from the battlements capping the tall walls surrounding our district. The gunshots would follow.
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