Wars

• Leon Ong
• Short Story
• 2005

The men stretch over the lands
From the city to the sea.
They from the world to throw up sand
All looking for me.
Their shouts pierce the normal silence.
Their guns sparking the night.
Bombs from Russia make no difference
In the havoc of the fight.

I run from my humble hiding hole
Tears brimming in my eyes.
God, I beg, purge my soul
Before everyone dies…
The air is concentrated with soldiers blood
With men crying in pain.
Bullets come like a tidal flood
The shooters far from sane.

Pain sears up my chest
With dark red liquid gushing out.
The enemy dance and cry in jest
And shoot me when I shout.
My chest aches, my breaths short
My heart slowly weakening.
My legs shaky and my eyes distort
My heart now constricting.