No Music, No Glory, Just Life

The sound of missiles falling through the air can be heard. Growing from a faint whine, to a screaming roar. Growing, louder and louder as they grow closer and closer. Boom. The ground shakes, buildings collapse... but that's one of the calmer things going on. All throughout this ordeal, the sounds of bullet cracks, whacks, thumps, and scratches is heard. Lifeless and robotic the mud slingers advance on their prey. Firing and leaving in their path the dead of their enemy. The sounds of maming flesh, bullets flying, civilian screams, and virgin minds being tainted with war trouden thoughts echoes through the chilled, damp night air. The smells of gun powder and burning human flesh surpass those of anything else on this night of human conflict. Whizzt. Mark Johnson, flails backwards violently, as if stricken with a sledge hammer to the shoulder, and being jerked back via a ripcord at the same time, falling over himself on his way to the ground. He thumps against the ground like cinder block, bouncing on impact, and slowly coming to a rest against a wall. The tan dust and sand blow past him as he winces in pain. Joe Patterson, a squad mate dives out of the line of fire, and down under the wall to help Mark, whom is not only his squad mate, but his best friend. Mark is crying hysterically in pain, his screams are that of pain, sorrow, love, and hate all mixed into one emotional blow so haunting to the ear, even the deaf would have hair raise on their necks. Joe kneels next to Mark, frantically trying to put pressure on Marks wound. Mark was unaware that his shoulder was even still attached, his arm hung lifeless at his side, as Joe tried to apply pressure to his wound, which was only spewing blood out between Joe's fingers just as fast and as well as Joe was applying the pressure. "eougghhh," chokingly Mark whispered the only thing that he could think about to Joe, "ee... Joe listen to me, Listen to me!" Mark flung his other arm onto the back of Joe's head, this arm was tainted in blood which started to drip down the back of Joe's head. "Joe, Tell my wife, I love her, you tell her I love her, I love her... I love her.... I want to go home Joe.... I love her...." A mixed concoction of broken sobs, squeals of pain and emotional outbursts, was a string of sorrowful notes Joe didn't want to accept. He knew now, that his friend of childhood was now going to die. At this thought, Marks hand moved to Joe's arm, he began frantically chanting Joe's name, as if yearning for him to hold on, to give him that one last stretch of life, but his arm went limp. His breathing stopped, and his eye's diolated. The sounds of bullets flying, bomb's bursting and flesh splitting stopped for Joe, the world went silent, as his eyes fixed upon his best friend's lifeless face. No music, nothing to build a mood like a movie, nothing to comment a fallen hero, there were no phonecall's to home, or any long speeche's in a "final breath." The only thing that happened was, the only thing that mattered. Mark thought about... his wife.

Lame I know... I am at a writer's block I just can't seem to pin-point why... well I can... but...