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fire and movement

and in my dream i was fighting a war in the backyards of my house. my family had left by the front door oblivious, and i stepped out into the back and the war was developing itself before me. i was in my uniform all of a sudden. the sar21 felt so real in my hands. i found loaded magazines in my webbing. we hid behind pillars and fired at enemies who drove by on trucks. they were exposed and so were we. i recognised familiar faces amongst both hostile and friendly troops. the trucks continued going by and we fired incessantly. non of the trucks stopped to confront us. i remember having to remedy IAs countless times. i remember making a mental note to clean my rifle properly should i get the chance. mortar shells were going off about me and cars were burning everywhere.

we were no longer fighting to win. we were fighting to survive in this revolution. a revolution that marked a shift in the balance of power where lines are drawn that indicate your allegiance.

i'm fighting a war with myself everyday. my enemies are unclear and they assume no fixed identity. i think i'm fighting myself most of the time. and in every war you need faith. faith in your comrades, and more importantly, faith in yourself. i'm losing the war then i guess, having no faith in neither you nor me. shrapnel's flying and the smell of gunpowder and singed flesh tingle my nose. my stomach lurges when you turn around, point your rifle at my head, and shoot me point-blank, giving me no opportunity to retaliate. and that's when blood, tears and flesh become a part of the earth that you tread on.

“fire and movement”