a glimpse beyond

A glimpse beyond

People like to talk about the war back home; they say that time

seams to pause right before we take our first life. When time

stops a beautiful light shines down upon us, giving us a glimpse

of a most wonderful place, where there is no war, no disease

and no rage. But soon the light leaves and is replaced with a

dark satanic pool and when you look down you see all the

suffering and cruelty beyond our world. Of coarse we did not

believe in this black magic. But men among us still worry

about not being the chosen, the guys with the red crosses on

there souls, the ones that aren’t protected from death.



the rain pours down on us like a blanket of oil; it digs at our

moral, chews out our souls and lurks within our boots. This

feeling I can get used too, almost like eating the same dinner for

a month, the taste fades before your very eyes and the texture






turns to ash in your mouth. But the booming of the guns I will

never get used too, each round fired is like and icy needle

sticking into your head, at first you don’t realize the sharp prick,

but after the first night you realize it and it never leaves. The

sound isn’t it though; it’s the effect it has on the men, there

fearful minds stretched over miles of insanity. In there eyes you

see children playing in the park, mutated children, singing

tainted songs and chants, the men are disturbed down past

the sane.


I have been asked by many soldiers why I never accept

leave, I simply ask them if they know what its like, to touch

there girlfriends face, stroke her hair, stare deep in to her eyes,

then I ask them if they left on good terms, I left on good terms

knowing that I will never see her beautiful face again, men like

us are bread to die in wars like these. And even if I don’t die, I’ll

wish I had, for nothing replaces the image of time. Back at

home I always used too hope there was breakfast on the table

after church, and now, now all I wish is that there was

breakfast. I try to keep faith and pray, and I do, I pray that I will

never be forced too take a life, for too murder in the name of

the lord is as bad as murdering in the name of satin.



the sirens are calling, its time to prepare, time to walk the mile,

be sent to purgatory, be judged against my faith, nothing so

tainted can be forgiven. I only realize this now that an extremist

of one side is only as good as an extremist of another. They

both are equal, opposites attract. Men of both alliances walk to

there doom, most of us wont make any contribution, just waste

the enemy’s ammo. And even if not one man died we’d all die

on another battle field, for there will always be one last stretch

of no mans land yet to cross, always.

Volleys of fire, rained down upon us throwing blades of jagged

Metal, this way and that. The crackles of machine gun fire blew

Holes in our ears and every time we tried to poke our heads over

The trench lip our heads had a 5% chance of coming back down




Intact. This 5% chance was enough for many and took there last

Picture staring in the face of the enemy.

Crackles from rifles shot through the vast array of razor sharp

Claws mounted on wire frame. A man called out to us, “they’ll

Never pass our trench even if they somehow find there way past

Our machine guns.” He said this Wright before a shot from a 20

Calibre bullet blew a clean hole through his neck. Blood

Squirted into our eyes but the redness from the blood didn’t

Drown out the beautiful horizon. Because nothing should ever

drown out beauty in the world, many despair in times like these

but no one ever talks about the beauty even when there is no

war, this feeling was short lasted for soon darkness would

Cover our skin and eternal pain would be locked within our body’s.

Soon man like demons jumped in the pit, pistols were fired at

point blank range, and bayonets were mounted on rifles, the

gleaming blades shining in the moon light. the distant horses

screamed from horrific injuries, not even the bravest listened.


Many of the people back home wouldn’t be able to stand the

sight never mind the noise. Men floated among the fray,

screaming for forgiveness. A catholic priest chanted the bible in

his corner “for he saved us from the dominion of sin and placed

us in the kingdom of the son he loves, forgiveness we ask.” The

repetitive voice was in the background. Before the priest could

finish, his life was extinguished by mindless men, the brutality

of it was unwatchable.

The words of the hunted song became branded in my mind


The slow tingling feeling, you know some one’s watching you.

The gentle pace of a predator’s footsteps

Even the soil trembles at your feet

The reeds whistle in the distance

The unnatural haze that seemed so real but so wrong

Gentle steps as you raise your pace

The smooth motion as you fall in the sand

The helpless struggle to gain breath

The sound of angry men cursing as they run

The swift motions as you pull your self back

The stunning behaviour of your legs as you stumble around

The feeling of betrayal as a gun is shot

The horrible thought of cold

The losses of feeling as icicles pierce the warmth of life

The slow seeping of blood as your drained dry of all liquid.

The stained sand moulded into an unknown shape

The blanket of air that settel’s on a body that doesn’t move

The glowing barrel of a gun that has committed a crime

The hunters become the hunted

The words were unforgettable; this fragment of my imagination corrupted my mind, soon all that was left of me was a black shape silhouetted in the moonlight, I took one last look up at life as we all do when the time is Wright and wondered off to what awaits me next.