A journey of doomed youth into no man’s land and regions of enemy occupied territories, after many battles had been fought; desolated lands and obliterated communities, enough to drive any man to tears, but not before the mission is done, not before the journey has ended; across trenches and rivers, muddy roads and dilapidated townships, torn apart by mortar fire, the large guns, their large shells; hope comes with a bundled surprise, but it does not dissuade our boys from their duties; toward the singing flame we go, with or without encouragement and always with the news that this damn battle need not be lost; the cries of brothers in chorus; the laughter of men; there will be no need for medals, tin and ribbon, just a letter to his mother, written with trembling fingers; they tell her he was a good man.
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No single work did more to question the conventions than what you now read. Welcome to my world. View all posts by Fictional Man