His image repeated for two hundred projectors back, the conductor raised his baton, at which moment a sea of one point two million flutes, clarinets, oboes, saxophones, bassoons, French horns, trumpets, trombones, baritone horns, tubas, mallets, drumsticks and cymbals all lifted up, signaling their readiness to strike the first note. It was hard to believe that music, of all things, was the alien monster’s weakness, but they were ready.
“What happened to the good old days when you didn’t have to worry about reserving a spot in an underground vault to protect you from global super-tsunamis, zombie outbreaks and total nuclear fallout?”
“You mean the days when people pooped in a pot and flung it out the back window and then died in massive numbers from fecal diseases?”
In the short term it was good, but in the long term it was bad and in the super-long term it was good again.
I skipped forward, watching the war become good and bad over and again and yet I still cannot decide whether I should stop it or encourage.
Attention is a click of heels, perfect creases, heads lifted, jaws set, and chests filled proudly with the hope of doing something good and right.
Four months later, heels click again, heads lift and jaws set as we wait for the gun salute in much shorter lines.
G.W. sat on the floor that last night in his round room wearing his flag patterned flannel pajamas, playing soldier with his green plastic army men, lost in the pretend battle game while the real world outside his door crashed.
Daddy George came in scolding briskly in his gentle dignified twang,” G.W. it is time to pack your toys away now and get to bed so the new kid moving in will have a place to set up his own games.”
We launched an epic war of conquest and years later we returned home, bloody but victorious.
Next time we ask to borrow a cup of sugar, just lend it ok?
Let tranquility reign from beginning to end of earth today and everyday so the weapons of war become silent evermore. Warfare has no purpose other than to establish the superior man, what will become when there is only one man remaining?
I, the captain of the regiment, won the battle but we, the invading army, lost the war. My distorted body is covered with medals of worms at the enemy’s market-square.
I saw the sniper’s muzzle flash a kilometer off, but the bullet moved faster than me. I only had time enough to think, “I shouldn’t have come to Afghanistan.”
“It’s as plain as the nose on your face!” she shouted in a heated moment. She didn’t look up to see that he was a war veteran who’d lost his.
Centries old the struggle was only by men and the prize was women and everything else the loser had. It had started as a solution to war and an outlet for aggression and those who played well sometimes only had to play once, of course the losers only played the one time.
We have killed the angels before they had time to teach us the following things:
how to smile, how to love, how to tie a shoe, how to pet a cat, how to forgive, how to forget. We are calmer now then we once were , because we have finnaly came to the righteous conclusion that our race is now rightfully absolete.