Take A Knee

Foot sore, knees aching, shoulders chaffed from the straps of the pack. Moving forward, one foot then the other, repeat the process ad nauseum. Brain numb to the pain and distance with eyes probing to the sides; the view to the front is a pack, a mirror of the one worn causing the shoulders to ache.

Left right left right, the feet continue to match the cadence as the nose remains unresponsive to the smell of sweat all around, ears not hearing the multitude of boot heels striking the ground in unison. There are sounds of breath forcefully inhaled and as forcefully exhaled, grunts and mutterings and still the ears hear nothing.

The breeze is light and finally a sensation creeps across the mirror shine stillness of consciousness ... that of the coolness of wind across sweat soaked clothes as felt on the skin beneath. A gentle satisfied sigh escapes through the lips dry from the first symptoms of dehydration. The tongue flicks out across the soon to be chapped and cracked lips wetting them briefly. A water bottle is unclipped, uncapped and raised; the water tepid and without sweetness sliding across throat and tonsils more akin to a parched landscape of sand and cacti than moist mucosal tissue.

The brain at once conscious of all this yet uncaring or is it unfeeling as the cadence of boots continues to crash left right left. Head up, lungs filled to capacity as the air is drawn in sharply, one deep filling intake to be exhaled as the head drops down earthward again and on it goes.

Then the word heard as if from a long distance yet screamed almost at shoulder level ... “HALT!” Standing still, rigid through fear of falling down waiting in anticipation of the order.

A voice, harsh yet welcome accompanied by the merest touch on the shoulder, “Take a knee son, take a knee.”