I rode in the back of this car. Whose car was it? Don’t ask me, they told me to get in and shoot. Shoot who? Those who don’t believe in what I believe in. What they believe in. Are our ideas right? Are they wrong? Do I really believe in this? Or is it just the fear that makes me believe this? They drive, I see what we fight for, who we fight for. We pass by. Was that cheering in joy, or cheering in fear? We fight for these people. Or do we fight for ourselves? But why fight? Will violence solve everything? That’s what they said. History shows it. But history doesn’t always repeat. Those kids crying, do they want people dead? This kid crying, do I? We stop. A town. People. They will die soon. I’m sorry, forgive me, they made me. They will die. The phrase repeated in my head. Jumbled up, confused thoughts. Did I just kill? The dead man on the floor proves it, now dead woman, and now dead child. Blood doesn’t stop war, it fuels it. And now the fuel has been put into the tank. Fill it up, drive this revolution. Or massacre, whatever you think it is. I don’t know, I don’t think for myself. I told you, they told me to get in and shoot. I did that. And I will do it again..
I’m sorry
I think this piece was about a child soldier? I wasn't entirely sure what was happening, but I liked it quite a lot nonetheless. I feel like the confusion was sort of the point of it. Very poignant, anyways :P
ReplyDelete