Nobody’s Perfect

Nobody’s Perfect

Nobody’s perfect. Most know this phrase. Few truly understand it.

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Triumph

Triumph

Flag raised. If it were not for the big blood stain, you could see that is was white. It was a make-shift but he didn’t give a shit anymore. He was tired. He never really wanted any of this. He hated every minute of it, but he had made his bed. The people he had killed had done nothing to him. Or his partners.

They just followed orders, and in this parts, their lives depended on it. “Shoot to kill.” Leave no enemy untouched. But whose enemy was it? His country’s probably. Ah, patriotism. He had come to realise it was a disease. He didn’t even know what he, no they were fighting for.

Now, as the shoot-out ended, bodies lay everywhere, and him, the sole survivor on his team, had no more ammunition and no back up. After-all this had just been a routine sweep before leaving for home tomorrow, with the war having been declared a triumph 2 days ago. The sheer irony made him smile. His wife and son would be waiting for him at the base tomorrow. As he thought about them he began to remove the blood stained flag they had used as a bandage when Frankie was shot in the leg 5 minutes ago then in the head as he screamed in pain. Now Frankie lay before him, limp and lifeless another casualty of war.

They had stopped shooting, but he knew they were too many to be all dead. He tied the flag to the barrel of his gun and raised it and waved, hoping they would understand the gesture. Silence. He waved it again. Nothing. They had realised what he was trying to do! Gathering his strength and using his gun as a support, he stood up. At least he might see his son one day, maybe take him to see the new Star Wars movie. He looked up.

They were standing in a line, guns at the ready, waiting for the survivor to show himself. Each of them had lost someone to the war, a war that had nothing to do with them. He could see them, standing there, a stance hardened by the throes of war. If they hadn’t shot him by now, they probably weren’t going to shoot him. He limped over the barricade and raised his hands above his head, as a sign of surrender. They watched him for a while then began to lower their weapons. He couldn’t believe it!

A sudden movement in the top floor window of the 2 storey building to his left caught his eye. It didn’t matter. The bullet hit him before he heard the gunshot. Suddenly he was falling into the blackness. Funny, what was that about the light at the end of the tunnel? The last thing he saw before the darkness consumed him was the general congratulating them on a victorious war. The sniper slowly dismantled his gun, a grim look on his face. He had never had such an easy shot, but he was glad. He pulled out the pendant on his necklace and kissed it as he watched his brother’s killer fall to the ground, in his eyes, a triumph.

 

Repeat After Me: I am Free

Repeat After Me: I am Free

So recently started my attachment/internship., and observation of events around the workplace got me thinking about institutionalization and the matrix, which inspired this piece.

 

Red pill or blue pill?

You are at the mid-point, in limbo.

One puts you back to sleep

One wakes you up

you see all the tools employed

All the illusions destroyed

And you realize your insanity

In a world whose sanity

Is banked on vanity

And your everyday life

Is you living a lie

Freedom is not what

You think it is

You are a modern-day slave

Who would rather enjoy being chained

Than break the chains

And face the uncertainty

Of a free life