For the Glory of the Nation – War of Madness – Fiction

There in the darkness, the eyes of madness drilled into our hearts, the way they did in the old days, the kind of madness who made you drink and you didn’t even thank them.

Politicians, sitting in the blood of victims of gross misunderstanding, campaigned on the backs of dead babies, untruths, close their eyes and they can see the truth, up their ass!

Silence in the rain, the thunder deafened us to the madness that was around us, explosions tearing us from this mortal realm, was this the end?

We were saddened by the times; war was a madness, in its own right, and here we stood, eyeing the ground, seeing the blood soak into the ground.

We moved forward, ever forward, where no man would live, were no man should dare try to cross, there, at the river’s edge, dear blessed mother, did we cross, the bullets flying, each man moving forward, this was the end, right here, we would live, or we would die, there was no in-between.

I was in the front, pressing forward, the mad men, our enemies, charging forward, toward us, I saw his eyes, as my bullet ripped through his heart, a fellow man, my age, my height.

I could not cry, care, even dare think of him as a human life, march forward, to kill, for the father, the mother, even my dear wife, our unborn child, for the country.

I drove forward, driven by the madness, to kill or to be killed.

I did not want to die, not there, on that field, to have my blood wasted into some piece of land.

January 12th would not be the day I would die; not this year, I would keep fighting, killing, memories, faces to haunt my dreams when I was older, to think about it, to have my mind ripped apart.

But that would be later, now I was a hero, valor in honor on the battle field, 17 confirmed kills, a promotion in rank, soon, I’d be leading my own troops into glory, the end of all wars, till that next one that would roll into the next.

Smiling politicians, shaking hands, kissing babies, for glory of the Nation, weeping for the dead, but they died, they would say, the politicians, for that glory.

Not for some company’s oil rights or mineral rights but for peace.

“If Jesus was alive, he would approve of our use of force against these, terrorists, for lack of a better word!” some politician said from the television screen, his face faked tan, to match his fake patriotism.

If Jesus was alive…

But he was dead, in some field, he died for somebody’s sins, but not mine.

Thou shall not kill.

Words printed on paper, I guess, it didn’t matter, I was Death, to march forward, ever forward, for God and Country.

I was the weapon to be used, like any other weapon, to kill.

Death to those enemies of the state, unless they provide death to the state.

It was the only thing that mattered.

If Jesus was alive…

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KILLING YOURSELF – a poem

Killing yourself,
You don’t need a big knife,
But self defeat,
Is the purpose of the game.

Walking,
Into the deep end,
Hold your breathe,
Till the end,
Can’t see the bottom,
Till you hit it.

What is love,
But misery?
What is happening,
With this disease?
Standing on the corner,
Waiting for,
The life,
To be defeated,
To be blown to pieces,
Cutting yourself,
To see if you still,
Bleed.

Standing in the darkness,
The thoughts begin to breed,
To cease,
To sleep,
To give up,
To not feel,
That misery,
Where can we go?
What can we do?

Do you know,
That misery,
In a company?
Reach up and give up.

Heaven is,
Nothing but,
Giving up,
Falling down!

THE WORLD ACCORDING TO A JUNKIE – A work of fiction

The world according to a junkie

Chapter one

The Part where I die

There I was, sitting in a club, 2079, people were around me, dancing, talking, blowing their mind, witness to the beginning of the end, razor blades slices up and down their arms.

“Polish fag!” A woman came screaming out from the bathroom, chasing some guy out into the street.

That’s how it was.

Nothing to see.

Move along.

Some shitty band played “disco is dying” up on stage.

I was dying, one second a time.

The screaming lady came back in, sat down next to me.

First time I met her, back when I first got here, to this city, I knew there was something different about her from the other ladies working the joint.

She was a guy, I could tell by her hands.

And the cock sticking out from under her short dress.

“You got any shit?” She asked, smiling.

“Up at my place…”

We both stood, leaving the place, for my dump up the street.

Cheryl was her name, a forty dollar whore, “lady” of the night.

But for some “candy” she was yours for a few hours.

I wasn’t gay, far from it, but all the girls, with cunts, all wanted more and later, as we laid in my stained bed, we would talk, about nothing.

It felt like a relationship.

“You ever think about…” Cheryl said, placing her head on my chest.

I could feel her cock near my leg, just there.

I shrugged.

“Future never comes, like someone else I know!” I laughed.

She pushed off from my chest, flicking my nipples with her hot red painted finger nails, laughing.

“I will come boy, I will come!”

I felt her hands wrap around my cock, beginning to stroke it back to full erection.

When I awoke, Cheryl, like always, was gone, back to her life uptown.

I once passed her in that life, straight man, working at a bank, as a teller.

“Hello sir, how can I help you today?” He smiled.

“Hi Jim!” I said reading his name tag, almost laughing.

It was an awkward moment, one I wouldn’t live down, three days later, my place.

“Don’t you EVER call me by my Slave name!” She growled at me.

“Jim?” I almost laughed, tears in my eyes.

“Yea! My mother, the bitch, named me that, after my grandfather, the same cock fucker who molested me from the time I was 11 years old till I sliced his dick off when I was 14 and ran away, to this place!”

I never called her Jim again.

ANOTHER DAY IN HELL – A WAR STORY

We jumped into madness, our eyes closed tight, the sparkles of the night filled our minds with the beauty that was not seen until it was too late.

“Who…” Charlie didn’t get to finish his question as a bullet ripped through his throat; he fell to the sand; no sound, just another body lying there, being trampled by the machine of war.

“Forward, ahead!” I ordered, jumping out of the vessel, feet planting hard on the soft ground. “Troop 9….”

We moved forward; the battle grew to a roar, our rifles rang out; blasts of light ripping into alien flesh.

“There!!” I roared sending an atomic grenade into a nest of the beasts.  “This is for Charlie!”

I felt my blood boiling; brewing, trying to keep in some sort of reality in this unreal moment, fighting aliens on their own planet.

I fired again; blasting the head off of the creature in front of me, their blood, green, rushing to the ground at my feet.

“Splug!”  I cursed, spitting on the creature, pushing further towards our goal, the city’s gate, their capitol, a golden city once in history, now in ruin from the constant bombardment we threw at it, trying to liberate it from these scum; our enemy in a 100 year war.

Hours later, we had the city in our palm; sweeping through the narrow streets, looking for the stragglers of resistance in the mud huts and brick halls, weaving in and out of a maze of corridors.

Ant-like beasts scuttled from one end of darkness into another; a blast from our rifles and they fell into a sleep they would never wake from.

A child; for lack of a better word, stood silently in the door way, eyeing us.

I opened fire; killing him as he stood there, he slumped down, a slight gurgle escaping his lips.

“Children grow into adults…” I told myself, shoving the body aside and entering the building. “Children grow into adults!”

Rest in peace,
Old men,
In war rooms,
Thousands of miles away,
Millions killed,
As they sleep in soft beds,
We sleep in mud,
They lay their heads on silken pillows,
Our heads lie on broken rocks.

— excerpt from ‘Last Words from a Soldier’s Diary’ by an Unknown Solider

Another day; on this shit hole planet, twenty eight hours in, no sleep, a can of cold beans, ration ships are late; are they even coming?

Headquarters in contact.

Still en route.

Always, seemingly, en route.

On guard; enemy spotted outside city, marching forward.

First wave — four of our men killed; I was asleep when I heard the screams.

On my feet; forward, fire, kill, or be killed.

Three hours – enemy dispelled, causalities fifteen troops; lost our communication specialist, rocket into the station he was broadcasting from.

Contact limited to HQ.

In need of support, ASAFP.

General orders received; hold city till further orders.

Next day; on patrol, mini fights throughout.

I try to sleep again; tucked inside a shell of a tank, my back push against the metal wall.

Six minutes; whole six minutes.

“We got our orders sir, we’re to pull back to rendezvous point charlie…”

“What?” I was rubbing my eyes; trying to stand.

“General orders sir, we’re heading off world, apparently it’s over…”

“The war??”

He nodded.

I pulled myself out, stood there staring into the sky, watching a ship landing somewhere outside of the city.

“What were we fighting for?” I said, mostly to myself.

He shrugged.

“Sir…” and before he said a word, a shot rang out, striking me in the head, my body fell to the ground, hard, but as the dead, I did not feel it, my soul was pulled back, a watcher of this scene…