War Shot

In trembling fear, leaning on to bullet-holed walls, we all hide. Awaiting for gunmen to calm their trained triggers, firing rabid shots piercing through the silence of hopes to survive. Our eyes shifting side to side for any trace of kill on our way, I love fear. It plays with our minds and loses our senses to the uncertainty of the situation.

Surrendering myself to chances all for a shot that perhaps, tells a story, my hands felt its way to my trigger. Panicked eyes searched for sense through the black hole pacified me at my edge. There I saw running women lost in the moment as their men flee into battle in dripping blood. Screaming for help, as if a contest began between humans and guns occurred. The funny narration that comes up in hellish times humor my inner self.

Every step I took stripped my fear to its rightful core. Forward I went, to find the man responsible for all this psychotic slaughter. Counting the corpse on my search in front of burning cans; there I saw tribes of men almost bowing to the gunning bullets. I was close; I sense the warmth of the little goal I had in that godforsaken place.

Exploding cans left and right while bodies flew to the ground like slashed rubber balls. There I saw my man; it was almost a kind of school girl crush when I saw this rugged old being with his gashed face. His bloody flesh gave an epidemic spread on to his white vest. This villain’s walk caused dying souls scream out of their bodies as he closes in to the crying mob. His silence was monstrous; I could almost feel him see me even at my distance.

Never have I heard prayers screamed out in tribal songs; preparing for my shot, I panned my weapon to where this villainous creature moved. In ironic beauty, the fusion of screams and shooting bullets filled the air. I pressed my trigger as it clicked on continuous shots of the moment, in a few seconds I got my bleeding massacre on film. Unequipped and trigger high, I turned around and drove off.


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