I don't know battle or people trying to kill me. I  wish I could pretend to do  battles where people didn't get hurt and I was a brave man who helped save a life. I have saved some lives, but I never had to sacrifice or put at risk my own life. Actually, I did, but I didn't worry about it.
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No shit, there I was: On patrol in Iraq in an up-armored truck near the outskirts of Kirkuk.  That's when it happened.  Suddenly, we hit an IED and began taking small arms fire!  That's when my training kicked in and I went on auto-pilot.  Thinking quickly, I grabbed the aid bag from the medic and gave myself seven doses of morphine.  It didn't do much to help the situation, but after that I didn't really give a shit.

That's when I saw a sand devil. Not the kind that we just hunkered down to, but this one hummed and smiled at us. It played a familiar tune. It danced out in the distance taunting us. I knew, this was my gateway  to heaven, if I could only  take a hit that bled me to death.

I didn't give a shit where the shot came from. There was more to life then Coca Cola and Cheesy Pizza. My mates took cover as bullets filled the air. I watched their brains make splatters against the canvases. I marveled at  the simplicity of their patterns and imagined what my brains would look like under the same circumstances.

One man,  who lost both legs. I mean, lost his legs, nowhere in sight. Stood up on his torso and told a joke. Told a joke. Told a joke.


I find no humor, no lies or truths, no lessons, no reason in any God damned bullet flying, pieces of sanctimonious war  in this story or any story ever conceived.

I pass this story on to Sparks who's soul is dark!