Birds on the Brain

animalstalkinginallcaps:

THE COLD WIND PAUSES AT THE LIP OF THE TRENCH BEFORE DESCENDING IN A RUSH, SEEKING OUR HEARTS, OUR LUNGS, OUR VERY HOPE. I PUSH THROUGH IT, RISKING EVERYTHING, TO SURVEY THE KILLING FIELDS. OVER THE POCKMARKED SOIL AND THE GNARLED STUMPS OF TREES AND FELLOW SOLDIERS I STARE AT A SEA OF SILVER GRASS, IMPERVIOUS TO THE WINDS, GLINTING IN THE CLOUD-CHOKED SUNLIGHT. HOW MANY BAYONETS? HUNDREDS? THOUSANDS? EACH GREEDY AND SHARP, HUNGRY FOR BLOOD AND VICTORY. HOW MANY OF US SHALL WRITHE ON THOSE SLIM DAGGERS? HOW RED WILL THE SOIL RUN?

IT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS.

WE WERE NOT SUPPOSED TO SHIVER IN FEAR, BEREFT OF PRIDE AND PURPOSE, SEEKING ONLY SURVIVAL, OR RESPITE.

BOBBY, WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO? DID THE MAILMAN COME YET OR NOT?

AS IF IN A DREAM, I HEAR MY MOTHER’S VOICE. SHRILL AND NAGGING, YET SOMEHOW AGLOW WITH ALL THE WARMTH AND COMFORTS OF A HOME I MAY NEVER AGAIN SEE.

BOBBY, SERIOUSLY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? IF THE MAIL’S HERE GO GET IT PLEASE.