Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Mark, chunk #1

Words from Mark...please note the ------ separates sections of given pieces - these indicate they came at a different moment in time...

"Many have found their emotions becoming callous from grief...becoming numb to the killing spree we've been accountable for.  These many, these soldiers of pain, have found it necessary to appoint themselves as vindicators of rage.  To force their frustrations deep into the wombs of village women...and even a few men."

"We are becoming heated savages.  We are turning into rapists and killers.  We're in the army now."

"For Some, we'll never leave this place.  Our burden shed in the heat of dark huts over thrown.  Our internal anger towards life left at the feet of those villagers to sleep upon, in their death...so no one shall ever forget we were here.  These, the same people that wished us to come and save them, now they wish us gone.  Still, none of us, on either side, ever expected to turn into the men we'd fought against all our lives...to turn into the men who's lives were lived out in the dark prison cells of concrete and steel.  We have become those men....we ARE those men...only we weren't sentenced to death row for a crime.  Our crime came long after our given sentence to death.  We are the ones fulfilling the crime to match the punishment."


"The humid air of the night promises to make us sweat for our sleep.  We silently pray for some peace to our war...if only for five, single minutes...just to be able to breathe again."

"Sounds tear at our minds, and this is only the second day we felt the action of disgrace.  The termination of bodies we've seen...most of us new to this type of killing spree.  New to this idea of a jungle of blood...and this is only the beginning.  For some of us, luck will take us early on.  For others, hell shall pay us back before we die."

"Our feet hurt from boots too heavy for the weight we carry with us.  Yet, still we understand, somehow we know that no amount of physical stripping shall ever prepare us for what we are to carry upon our minds in the days that shall see us through...that shall emblazon our lives with tattoos of war and devastation.  The only thing that could save us now would be God...and many of us are believing in something we've never given a second thought about before...as that's all that we have left to cling to, Faith."


"As I scream for Illinois, my home land, I wonder, in this salty jungle air, if I'll ever see the light of day again...or if I shall perish by the light of the moon and smoke and gunfire."

"Drugs make their way through these skulls we have...these brains have become nothing but mush, as have our once patriotic thoughts turned into skeletons baked in the midnight sun."

"Some of us were drafted, we had no choice.  Some of us chose it ourselves, this fate.  Those that picked this hell for themselves seem to be the weakest of the lot.  They thought they'd do their patriotic duty by fighting for a cause, no left realizing they're killers of hundreds.  Their life is their only payment.  Death row is right here...right now."


Air attacks.  We hear them.  Shells drop all around us.  I watch my fellow soldiers get their pink slips by bullet.  Sometimes a limb will blow past me, in the air, landing far from the body itself.  The hand, arm, leg never to be recovered...the funeral to be less a piece of the solider - still, no one will care."

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