We were like locusts. Burning pilfering and raping.
We said it was the law of war, that it was merely tactics.
We implemented scorched-earth policies to rule.
“They would do the same to us.”
“We followed orders.”
Yet at night I see myself; reflected in the eyes of dying mothers, in the pools of blood. I hear the screams of toddlers.
I cannot wash the scent of burning corpses from my dreams. and stolen bread tastes like ash.
But when we meet, we share a drink, we brag of being heroes; we make-believe ourselves.
And still we are their locusts.
I know it’s not locust, but still I felt a bit like being transformed to something like that. It bugs me that I can even write something this in first perspective. I just hope that I would rather be shot at dawn for disobeying than to follow orders in any war like this.
Rochelle selects the picture and we write a story in 100 words to the same image at Friday Fictioneers. If you have time to read my interview with Sarah Potter and story at Sarah Potter’s blog you can learn a bit more about me.
March 9, 2017