Natural Battle

I could hear the bullets whizzing by my ear. I pissed myself twice as two bullets pierced my parachute. They were hot and close. I knew I would kill or die; or kill and die; that war was hell and that no fear can be experienced more than battle.

I ready my Browning 30caliber machine gun and reach into my own guts to find peace with life and death and god and country and all that jazz. I begin cutting the straps of my chute before I even land. I hit the ground running and escape the suffocation of my falling chute. I fall to the ground and open fire. TOOF! TOOF! TOOF! TOOF! TOOF! The gun kicks and jerks like a little mechanical buck but I am strong and keep my grip firm. I blast off 300 bullets in 30 seconds and have actually caught some of the land on fire; or maybe that’s from the flamethrowers. I hope they’re on our side. I’d hate to die like a hotdog.

I wait to see the reaction from my blast. Nothing. Then finally I am joined by two other paramilitary mass executioners and we send another blast into the abyss. RAT-A-TAT_TAT_TAT_TAT!

Nothing. It feels like we are shooting at nothing.

We march for miles and see no enemy. What has happened? The ancient cities are in ruins and there are only corpses. No one is left alive. I find that I am marching alone. I am attended by a large white horse that carries my supplies, large satchels of water, grain, coffee and dried fruit. I have mounted my machine gun on his saddle and choose not to ride him. I am happy to be marching without the weight of the weapon. I guide my steed beyond the smoldering lifeless village and into a field of poppies. There is a winding road made of bricks of gold but I ignore it. I head for the forest, certain that the golden brick road is riddled with landmines. I see a pigeon land on the road in the distance. It explodes. I laugh to myself and wonder how long until I have to eat my horse.