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Temporary Existence

I had placed myself here surrounded by noise, blood, and denied serenity. Fear had never been my forte, yet I relentlessly situated myself into positions which allowed me to feel fear's frosty grasp. Doing so excited me. Sadistic, I know. However, this moment was different from any preceding point in time for I feared for my life. I had foolishly underestimated the level of intensity I would face on a battlefield. Never before had I felt terror course through my veins so robustly then I did while standing in those trenches. From that fear I was left frozen in the worst possible way. As bullets whizzed about me, and my fellow comrades died at my feet, I had morphed into Tin Man Sam. It seemed as if the inner workings of me had shifted into rusted gears, and the only thing that was keeping this machine running was the acidic oil that had replaced my blood. My legs were lead cylinders held fast to the earth beneath me, and the grass seemed to pull at my feet, as if each blade was beckoning me to go play with it. It would be wonderful to be able to fulfill Mother Nature's perceived wish, and just lay down with the grass, however a passing bullet halted that fantasy. Time stopped to stare in horror at the wound that had began to sprout from the mid-region of my chest. I stared along with it. As I looked at the bullet hole in disbelief my vision began to veer in and out of focus, to the rhythm of my palpitating heart, and my soul vacated the broken shell it once inhabited.

Story by:

Seales Green

jeannieoflair@hotmail.com

submitted at 2:03am

4 April 2011

Seales Green's web:

www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=857765062