[IC] A matter of honour

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[IC] A matter of honour

Postby Tuna » 29 Dec 2018, 08:12

The shaken, silent few left in the village go about their business.
The sounds of the civil war fall on deaf ears: a shout - a mortar round - silence.
Another new widow, another new orphan.
Do the propagandists even believe their own stories anymore?

A weary, old man stumbles to the shop for more calming booze in the early afternoon.
An eternity of pain and loss, all for nothing.

He sees the village youths standing against a wall; mothers wailing behind a barricade.
"Ready! Aim! Fire!"
Three words that corrupted the future for this village.

Turning away, those tired eyes hid their smouldering fury.
He knew the worst was yet to come, since those mothers would beseech him yet.

Draining the bottle, those same eyes spied a worn grip. A worn trigger. A worn uniform.
Strange how a single memory can revive a long-buried curse. The curse of belief. Belief in the future.
Donned, the gear feels useful once more, eager to serve the cause.

By dawn, no authority save for the Spirits themselves had a foothold in the village.
The villagers were again silenced, this time by awe.
"Who's crazy enough to keep fighting?" they ask in hushed voices.
Again, the old man stumbles to the shop, seemingly oblivious.

Amongst the bodies they find a poem of the oppressed, soaked with blood.

Toil on frozen earth,
Snapped hoes lost in cold, hard shit,
Waiting for the spring.

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