Battle Victims

• Bethany Tender
• Poetry
• 2010

Cold, wet, beaten and battered. Every inch of my body hurts. Guns fire, screams ring in my ears. Blood covers the white desert sand. Chains dig deeper into my flesh. Blood trickles down my feet that are already a mess. The night is dark and dangerous. Dropping dead one by one the survivors are dropping down, so close to having none. Food is rare. Clothing so thin that you fear your completely bare. Blood dyed rags tie your hands. We have to fight for our freedom, but when shall we find the chance. The chance to finally end this war and not give it a second glance.