3 December 1914 - French Trenches
It has been three months since the start of the war on our side - France. The General says only another three months to go and we’ll be home-free. I can hardly be optimistic, however, even if we “won” today’s battle. Won. We didn’t even gain any ground, so what could that possibly mean? Truly, no one can really win in war, can they? We were taught in secondary school and the early years...

Something...something wild. 
Yes, madness I say. 
Insuperable, unconquerable, not-to-be-touched - 
but it has its collision. 

Its dripping, hot saliva. 
Its pounding, racing pulse. 
Its cruel, uncaring, flaring nostrils.
Its engulfing breath. 
Its red and grey, blaring eyes that
see all but nothing 
at once.
Its deafening, haunted screams that 
can fill the air 
and take it away.
Its skin
so rough
so cracked
so caked with
dirt and oil and grime
with time.
Its
smile. 
There. 
A mess.
A haunting...

Two small people, two little boys, wrestling and playing and making all the noise. They do not have a care in the world, not a permit to worry, all is at ease. Well, all accept poor, misunderstood Anakin - what a shame. I smile at this thought as the eldest carries himself, workout pant swishing against its twin. 
"Christmas tree - the only light we need." he proclaims, turning off the living room brightness. We are left in a hushed...

Two small people, two little boys, wrestling and playing and making all the noise. They do not have a care in the world, not a permit to worry, all is at ease. Well, all accept poor, misunderstood Anakin - what a shame. I smile at this thought as the eldest carries himself, workout pant swishing against its twin. 
"Christmas tree - the only light we need." he proclaims, turning off the living room brightness. We are left in a hushed...