i sit a top the ruins of building once graced with majesty and life. collapsed ceilings, exposed pillars, and debris strewn about what was originally a palatial penthouse. pricey digs for the gaunts of war to reside in. pricey digs for me even more so. armed to the teeth, i make my way to the edge of what i'm sure was a balcony once. looking over the edge, i can see how this place was once the crown jewel of the empire. a floating green utopia. now, just a destroyed capital, company not to families, and visitors, but bullets and death, and so much violence. population desolation, and me of course.
i wait there, at the top of the world, looking through my binoculars. waiting to send the word and bring a hail of death onto the enemy. funny, because i'm having trouble remembering why they're the enemy. but this is my job. this perch. this wasteland of noise and rotting meat that continues to walk around obeying orders, even though we've all been dead for years.
and there it is, they've congregated, and they're standing still. 'never stop moving' i here my commander screaming, his spit covering my face. i wipe away the imaginary spit and his memory with the brush of my hand and call to the gods to bring the rain. within a couple of seconds i hear the sounds of rushing doom, and it sounds like a hurricane in my ears. the first thing to blow is the tank, then a jeep, and i'm so transfixed by the noise and fury; the spectacle, that i don't feel the knife until it's jerked violently from my body. my own blood is so much redder than i thought it would be, and there's so much of it, and then a thought, the last thought: i am no longer a soldier. i am free.
legendary