2003-04-04 7:10 p.m. Our commanding officer came into the tent to tell us about how the war was going, but we were all like "Shut the tent!" and "Please be quiet, we don't care anymore!" The war has been going on for such a long time that I imagine my parents waiting patiently back home for my return, taping all my favorite shows on teevee and the videotapes are covering every table and chair and they can't find anywhere to sit, they miss me so much. I remember back when they taught us how to use a bayonet. You do have to practice, actually, though you'd think it would be easy. Ribs are the tricky part. You hit them wrong and you'll skid to the side and then the Enemy isn't dead, he's just beside you and that's how he likes it. And our sergeant, whose name I totally forgot and I'm sorry, he would shout at us and we had to answer him really quick. He'd be all "WHAT MAKES THE GRASS GROW, SOLDIER?" And I'd be the quickest to answer BLOOD AND GUTS MAKES THE GRASS GROW, SIR! Then I'd stab the practice Enemy right in the middle of his chest, the bayonet blade slipping in just underneath where the windpipe branches off into the lungs, splitting the bronchial tubes. If you do it right, you can place the blade near the duodenum so that if the Enemy hiccups while dying you can actually feel your rifle wiggle. The practice enemies don't twitch, though, so you have to pretend. So anyway, I used to think about how wonderful it would be, just after the war was over, to just sit for awhile and maybe have a picnic among all that grass, green as a golf course, and all because we emptied out the guts of our Enemy and that's how Nature works. I was thinking it would be nice to start a garden and if we have any prisoners left over, we can take a few out into the garden when we need to and open them up to feed the plants. But we're here at the war now and there's nothing but sand, sandy ground, sand in the air. No fucking ground or sky, just sand enough to make your lungs itch. That's why we asked our C.O. to be quiet, because we're just sick of it. Sick of it. My eyes crunch when I blink, there's so much sand. Also, I wasn't given a bayonet here. Instead, guys in different tents set up these computers and click things and then we're told that the Enemy has just been blown up. This war totally sucks. I would give anything for just one green shoot, my hands slippery with blood and wholesome dirt. |
1. today is nice 3. happy yesterdays 8. thanks for hosting 4. doing other things |
(Proof that I am the only one reading.) |