Friday, February 16, 2007
New Beginning 217
I hate cannonballs.
Muskets, I can handle. Bayonets, I can counter. But those damn, shrapnel-filled cannonballs scare the holy hell out of me.
I've seen whickering strips of metal tear a man's legs out from under him, rip out his intestines, peel his face down to the bone. I hate cannonballs.
They put nails in them. Nails and barbed wire and even forks when they run out of other sharp things. Who thinks of such tortures? What kind of mind comes up with something so insanely, effectively cruel?
Whoever he was, they probably made him a general.
I wish we were fighting foreigners. I don't have any kin up north, but it just doesn't seem right to slaughter people from my own . . . well, my own country, sort of. I don't guess I've killed anyone I know yet, but it's only a matter of time.
Especially now that we've got the bomb.
It's so much tidier than cannonballs. Somebody gives a command, a plane takes off, flies over enemy territory, releases a few hundred napalm bombs, and that's that. Everything burned to ash. None of that evil-smelling, up-close-and-personal, internal-organs-lying-everywhere kind of death.
Ain't modern warfare grand?
Opening: Gutterball.....Continuation: Anonymous