Saturday, May 31, 2014

Next In Line

My Converse’s crunch underneath my feet as I walk. All to be heard is my shuffling, and the quiet breathing of the soldiers.

I’m scared. I’m so scared.

My thoughts are a radio losing reception, cutting in and out, jumping frequencies and trying to find the voice I need this very moment. I’m next in line.

But this isn’t just any line, this is a firing squad.

And I know it must’ve sounded horrible when I asked if you’d go first, but I honestly did it because I didn’t want you to see me die, even if that means I have to see you go. I’d like to think our deaths are different though. Just as there’s a heaven and hell, we’re headed different ways after this.

I’ve never seen anyone get shot before. I was crying long before the burst of fire throws a projectile at your heart. You’re tougher than me. Maybe your heart will be hard enough.

It’s not.

They drag your corpse away like a sandbag full of diamonds.

And now my mind and heart are really racing. My mind says “there is no hope”, my heart says "maybe if you run fast enough you'll escape their bullets", and my soul says "embrace it".

Chin up


Back straight.


Eyes forward.


1 comment:

  1. I really liked the analogy between your thoughts and the radio.


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