Ok.An Early Post.
It feels SOOO great to have nothing to do. All you wanna do is sleeeeep.SO Its gonna be a heavily borrowing post today. Whats a heavily borrowed post.A post where i borrow heavily.HAHA.Ok.Below is my essay for my Appreciating literary works module which i wrote.I think its ok, and it fills space.:D Oh oh oh.AND ITS IS OVER!! I dont have to listen to Daniel talk about how awesome he is anymore.WOOOHOO!!! Of course he is just trying to sell me that point cause he knows i'm the definition of it. heh. I would love to blog more, but shredding calls.
It feels SOOO great to have nothing to do. All you wanna do is sleeeeep.SO Its gonna be a heavily borrowing post today. Whats a heavily borrowed post.A post where i borrow heavily.HAHA.Ok.Below is my essay for my Appreciating literary works module which i wrote.I think its ok, and it fills space.:D Oh oh oh.AND ITS IS OVER!! I dont have to listen to Daniel talk about how awesome he is anymore.WOOOHOO!!! Of course he is just trying to sell me that point cause he knows i'm the definition of it. heh. I would love to blog more, but shredding calls.
Of Heroes And Trenches.
War is ever-present. Be it the silent ones we face in our minds on a daily basis. Or the ones that involve massive loss of lives and lands that men so often wage all in the name of pride. But what the world forgets is that heroes aren't those with a cape, but those who fight both wars at once. The soldiers in the trenches. Those who fight men of foreign lands in the day, and demons of their own at night.
Jacobsky was such a man. He wasn't a well-built man like heroes of old. He didn't have a loud booming voice or blind proud love for his motherland like the heroes of movies. He was a traditional blacksmith by nature, a man whose livelihood was threatened by the very sub automatic he held in his hands like a shield of sorts. But Jacobsky wasn't a hateful man. He was a practical one. The wars of his country had torn the land asunder, and his craft was slowly dying in demand, for no blacksmith, no matter the skill, could craft a weapon faster then a bullet. So he took the most sensible way around. He joined the army. The pay was good, the food was warm and he got enough violence and tension in the day to keep him too occupied to ill treat his sons or to feed his vices. It was a good job. Or so he was told, although it was far from it. As if on cue, he turned to look around at the mud filled trenches.
“They lied”, he thought as he got up to rummage a nearby corpse for something to eat. There wasn't anything. The last meal he had was barely one, and that was 2 days ago. Just as he started to drift into thought, he heard the familiar sound of bombers. He grunted and strung a litany of curses before grabbing his weapon and getting up to proceed to the shelter. There was no haste in his movement, hardly even a quickened step. He knew they wouldn't drop anything. They don't bomb the area. Never have, and probably never will. The land he was standing on was no mans land. It wasn’t an oilfield. It wasn’t an agricultural haven. It was barely making it to being a plain. The soldiers knew it, Jacobsky knew it, and most definitely the enemy knew it. That’s why they didn’t waste any bombs on them. The enemies knew full well the hunger would kill the poor souls entrenched there, so bombs weren’t needed. But Jacobsky wasn’t complaining. The daily risk of knowing that the enemy would one day decide to invest in a bomb drop on them just to watch them burn was a disturbingly peaceful thought.
Jacobsky wasn’t a man of faith, but that didn’t stop him from muttering a prayer as he walked to the shelter. He wasn’t a suicidal man, and he had no fear of death, but he wanted as much of a fighting chance at life as the next guy. Ironic given the circumstances. He heard his commanding officer call him and his platoon, so he walked over. The officer was ordering the platoon to advance to the next piece of wasteland, so that the motherland could have more arid lands to boast about. Jacobsky smiled as he heard his orders. His wife had always told him that no matter how bad the situation is; there is always a choice. But yet now, he found himself wanting to take the riskier option. His wife was always a bit more open-minded. The society in which he lived in believed that choice be that of the gods, and men only did what the gods chose. But Jacobsky knew better. As the sun rose and Jacobsky and his platoon mates climbed out of the mud and blood walled trench, he squinted at the sun, and then saw a small glint. Slowly, as he looked more intensely, the glint grew larger till it became an armor piercing round right in his direction. But of course Jacobsky never knew it was an armor piercing round that hit him. Because to recognize the round, he’d need his head.
Jacobsky was such a man. He wasn't a well-built man like heroes of old. He didn't have a loud booming voice or blind proud love for his motherland like the heroes of movies. He was a traditional blacksmith by nature, a man whose livelihood was threatened by the very sub automatic he held in his hands like a shield of sorts. But Jacobsky wasn't a hateful man. He was a practical one. The wars of his country had torn the land asunder, and his craft was slowly dying in demand, for no blacksmith, no matter the skill, could craft a weapon faster then a bullet. So he took the most sensible way around. He joined the army. The pay was good, the food was warm and he got enough violence and tension in the day to keep him too occupied to ill treat his sons or to feed his vices. It was a good job. Or so he was told, although it was far from it. As if on cue, he turned to look around at the mud filled trenches.
“They lied”, he thought as he got up to rummage a nearby corpse for something to eat. There wasn't anything. The last meal he had was barely one, and that was 2 days ago. Just as he started to drift into thought, he heard the familiar sound of bombers. He grunted and strung a litany of curses before grabbing his weapon and getting up to proceed to the shelter. There was no haste in his movement, hardly even a quickened step. He knew they wouldn't drop anything. They don't bomb the area. Never have, and probably never will. The land he was standing on was no mans land. It wasn’t an oilfield. It wasn’t an agricultural haven. It was barely making it to being a plain. The soldiers knew it, Jacobsky knew it, and most definitely the enemy knew it. That’s why they didn’t waste any bombs on them. The enemies knew full well the hunger would kill the poor souls entrenched there, so bombs weren’t needed. But Jacobsky wasn’t complaining. The daily risk of knowing that the enemy would one day decide to invest in a bomb drop on them just to watch them burn was a disturbingly peaceful thought.
Jacobsky wasn’t a man of faith, but that didn’t stop him from muttering a prayer as he walked to the shelter. He wasn’t a suicidal man, and he had no fear of death, but he wanted as much of a fighting chance at life as the next guy. Ironic given the circumstances. He heard his commanding officer call him and his platoon, so he walked over. The officer was ordering the platoon to advance to the next piece of wasteland, so that the motherland could have more arid lands to boast about. Jacobsky smiled as he heard his orders. His wife had always told him that no matter how bad the situation is; there is always a choice. But yet now, he found himself wanting to take the riskier option. His wife was always a bit more open-minded. The society in which he lived in believed that choice be that of the gods, and men only did what the gods chose. But Jacobsky knew better. As the sun rose and Jacobsky and his platoon mates climbed out of the mud and blood walled trench, he squinted at the sun, and then saw a small glint. Slowly, as he looked more intensely, the glint grew larger till it became an armor piercing round right in his direction. But of course Jacobsky never knew it was an armor piercing round that hit him. Because to recognize the round, he’d need his head.
The End.
Picture Of the Day: its just a random thing I took from the franz ferdinand poster and a random senseless poem.I dont know what to draw.HELP!
Song On Itune: Drowning
Random Thought: shredding to the tune of John Mayer is surreal.heh.
Random Thought: shredding to the tune of John Mayer is surreal.heh.
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