The door read ‘new recruits’ in grand italic letters, I went through clinching my manuscript under my left arm (my right holding my conscription papers), pondering whether I should jump ship, slip out the back, or just turn around and leave unnoticed. I sat down at the nearest seat, ignoring the other men who looked grim; a picture of melancholy swept across their faces like lost children in the night. I began to read my father’s manuscript.

My struggle so far has been with people. All types of people, in fact everyone I meet has given me trouble, in some way or another. I do not like them, nor do they like me. This is fine with me. Actually, I would not have it any other way.

Of course I am pure, white, strong and determined. However, I believe I am one of a kind. The other kinds I do not like, and like I have just said they do not like me. It is not just my tattoos that bear the hallmarks of my passion, moreover the love I have for nothing except power and domination. For these two places are where the weak will hide from, in the shadows of society where everyone carries their own social burden, liberal minded swine’s.

Oh the state has come and gone, it was once a great place with architecture reminiscent of the willing and able, not the unwilling and the unable who drain the life out of people.

My Name is Carri. My dying mother gave it to me two days after I was conceived. Like her, I never knew my father. He, so I have heard, fought and died in the Great War. She met him as he was marching through town on a peace mission. They only met briefly, although I heard it was dear moment.

Our reality is shaped by whom we meet and I may have shaped yours, if only briefly. I will leave you with these few special words: Do not let live.

…and the medical supplies ran out last month, not that they offered us much hope. What we had, we used in one day, what we did not have we prayed would come to us from the heavens above.

For I am Marvin, trained for 6 years after a successful scholarship. Hard work, all worth it in the end, or so my father used to say. I gave my all in the Great War but alas I was out of action with a missing arm and leg. A bomb hit our building and I never fully recovered.

I was bitter for a while, and stranded for an even longer while. The bitterness finally left me when I knew the end would come. Our facilities had been hit and hit, time after time throughout the longest night of my life. I am still reliving that eventful night as I write these words.

Soon it will be all over or so I am told. A General has walked into the hall, where I and at least another hundred men lie wounded, instructing us to think of our families and loved ones and how we will be missed, giving us small hope that we will reunite in the coming years. We are past the point of sadness; the tone in the General’s voice was sad but sincere and exact.

The walls around me, around my fellow comrades, are falling down at a faster pace than ever before. The roof keeps us from our fate, letting us live one second longer, one minute longer. I can see the stars shining through an opening where the bombing has been successful. The roof, I have to admit, has served us well, keeping out the enemy for such a long period. Unfortunately, I do not think it will hold much longer, so I write here for the last time. I leave you with my final thoughts, my lastwords.

For my loved ones, let them not live in fear through the years. I have wept…

Comrades in arms, you will fight to your last breath or else all that our forefathers have struggled for is in vain. We are a nation with a strong diminishing army, but we will fight to the end! Raise your glasses and drink to the night, as this will be our last time together.

Squadrons, privateers, riflemen, soldiers, this is your time. Do not let the enemy win on our soil; push them back to their shores, to where their families sleep and where their children play. Do not let them take our land, our hearts; we need to strike them down one by one. Do not let them breathe our air, or hear our cries as we fight to the death.

Brave men from across the land unite, hold strong, and be one. Remember they may out number us but we certainly out number them in more ways; we are courageous, brave and almighty. With God on our side, we shall rule the day. Go now and fight like warriors.

The General Alexander watched his men smash their glasses as they cheered in unison. They left the building like madmen, jumping up and down, shouting, and singing songs of freedom, their eyes deep and dark. For he knew that each and every one was bound to a fate. A fate that lay six feet underneath the ground for some, and for others high in the sky where the wind danced between angels.

I clasped the manuscript between my hands, anxiety bit my lip, and blood seeped through my teeth onto my tongue. I could taste blood, as though it were a copper coin. Half of the other men had left the building, my fate had been decided a long time ago. I was destined for this moment, for this battle. Even though I knew in the back of my mind I would not see past next year, there was simply nothing else worth doing.

I signed my name Alexander Marvin Carri, giving all the papers to the Sergent at the desk. We shook hands and he congratulated me, patting me on my back asking me how I came to my decision. I told him it had been easy and when he asked why that was, I replied:

"I just want a big kick ass AK-47, to blow some Iraqi's heads off."

The Sergent wasn't amused.

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.