LighthouseAll my life, you have been my beacon in the dark of night.
Your perfect beauty shining on the horizon, across the turbulent waves I battle.
You grace me in my dreams, secret moments I cherish as I sleep below deck.
Yours, always a port of safety to which I may return.
And though we are near when I finally dock, your glimmer is oh so far away.
For your greatness shall forever stand high above the dark ocean,
and I, who lives to brave its stormy waves and lonely depths,
shall never be your keeper.
The Poor Bloody Infantry"Soldier." His mistrust of infantrymen well known to the other patrons of the restaurant, the Admiral's words heralded tense silence. "How'd you get that scar on your face?" The man looked up at the superior officer and spoke.
"The Battle of the River Delta." Some people seemed impressed by this, but others reacted mournfully to the simple phrase. He went on. "104th Infantry Regiment. At first we were stationed to the south along with the 19th to protect against an enemy flanking attempt, but when it was clear there was no turn maneuver in the works, command sent us to aid the forces in the city; the 223rd Infantry, the 84th Airborne, the 22nd Mechanized, and the 7th Infantry. They'd reached the bridges of the city and both sides were fighting to take them back, not wanting to make the stalemate permanent by blowing up the only means of advance. The guys with the 7th and the 84th in the north were being torn up like fresh fish.
"So we got up close on the outskirts of town and the final
ParanoiaThe screen beside the one where two blue-tinted soldiers stood talking in relaxed Russian started to move. A woman in white ran across the steel and concrete room, peering into the glass wall to the right side of the camera's field of view before quickly stepping back.
She watched the lights flicker in the dark security room, eye wide with fear as two strange figures appeared from the lower part of the screen, walking jerkily towards the woman now pounding on the steel door. Her screams and the banging of metal sounded from below the video feed, mixed with a small burst of laughter from smoky lungs.
Suddenly the screen went a blue-tinted black just as the strange figures converged on the crying woman. Dim lights came back on after a few moments to reveal a mess of blood trailing away from the spot they'd just been, shooting to the left and right in its long path back under the camera's view.
The small girl watched. The two men in the other screen were still talking in friendly tones ov
IllIt was hard to understand. Your body being cozy and warm inside a stuffy blanket or coat, probably a little stiff from lack of movement, but your head was exploding with heat, seemingly radiating from your nose in a haze only you can feel. Maybe there was even a breeze to come and wipe your skin in a nippy caress, but just below those seven layers of tender cells fumed an oven. Such was the plight and comfort of being sick in the fall.
SmugglersThe morning before the sun rises. It's like a secret; cool to the touch but warm to the mind. Comforting, familiar, simple and yet infinite. It's everything at once, melding together in a dark blanket around the landscape. Almost like the color of soft-tasting chocolate. Everything else seems to melt into insignificance as the universe sits before you in all its endless harmony.
At least, that's how I feel. Everyone else at this time only has the fear. Pedestrians with the fear of soldiers. Soldiers with the fear of officers. Officers with the fear of politicians. Politicians with the fear of people. People with the fear of the future, or at least the next five minutes of driving on this dark, all but abandoned road at 5:00 as the moon lights up the sky, casting dark shadows that scream danger to our instinctive senses. Everyone wants to choose flight, but there's nowhere to go but six-feet down.
I wasn't driving. Guards don't drive. That's why they call it "riding shotgun." Back in th
RationalizerIt wasn't particularly warm outside, but that wasn't his reason for feeling cold. He felt abandoned. Left like an unwanted pet at the roadside, though without the crying children zooming away at 60mph. Flea-ridden, not fully house-broken, and possibly rabid. Such a description lightened his sprits, sitting on the curb recently washed by the night's rain. He supposed that was some sort of irony. It's not like he really wanted to go with them, anyway. Theirs was a journey of undesirable consequences in his eyes, and with the mentality of an optimistic recluse, he'd "pardoned" himself from their presence. That was it. He "pardoned" himself.
Riot Control"No! Not you!" The speaker collapsed with a burst of light as she turned to run from the approaching men. Inside the fight still raged between god-knows-who, and god-knows-who-else. It looked like a classic brawl, except there was a lot more screaming in pain and too few people were getting back up. Someone fell out the doorway after being hit with something large. Picking himself up off the street, he saw who was coming to end the violence.
"No... You're not police!" he said breathlessly, almost backing back into the fray "You're a death squad!" An attention-getting shotgun blast later, and the commanding officer asked the dark-skinned body
"You were expecting someone else?"