March of Death
I lye on the ground sweating and baffled by the site of a corps of a boy.
The burning sun smacks me on my face.
The loud booming of an exploding truck
I don’t move, I can’t.
Ten thousand years and I’m still young.
A sharp pain strikes my leg.
I see a shard of metal sticking out of my broken leg.
Blood is pouring, no. more like draining from the corrupted body of mine.
My hearing is nothing is but a loud high pitched screeching noise.
I look up in the air to see a sign a hope.
THERE IT IS!
There it goes.
I lye stunned, dumbstruck, scared, waiting for Death to grasp my arm and pull me away.
No light to be seen. No one to hold in your circle. My circle was broken long ago
By the army. March of Death
Be all you can be. Dead.
By Jesse
Boze