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The sun that bleeds

Parachuted out as a trooper bearing heavy arms, landed to the ground safely and with luck. I could see bodies freefalling to their deaths shot down in a distance by lurkers bearing heavier arms. My thirst to kill now fills my body with determination. I sprint forward with other men, explosions banging my ears left and right, as the platoon leader signals us towards the bunker across the distance. I could see light pass me by, sometimes flickering, many times harmless. Only that it scares me to think it a mortar offensive. Death is but an inch closer than before, honking at me to say how foolish I am to partake on such careless and blind faith. It shimmers above the sky as if part of that light, and I look at it with these vanishing eyes, wondering to myself how awfully mistaken it was to associate mortality to the colour of black whereas here, floating above me, looking at me straight in the eye, is an indication of truth as to the misrepresentation of that same knowledge. It hugs me unbearably, soft and mild, and I could not close my eyes a second more. For the beauty of it all will be wasted on obscure retelling of thoughts swimming within my own mind. Not even a blink. The bigger it becomes, the harder for me deny it. Here lies no more salvation. Take me. Spread your guiding voice over my tainted spirit and shower me with yours. Then it speaks -- as it becomes one with me, with its riddled, mechanical voice, it speaks.

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