A Photograph

Mud oozes from underfoot;
Leaving a cracked surface as hard as rock;
Spreading from one point and reaching out;
Like arms touching something out of reach.

Gun is loaded;
Every step welcomes new pain;
The men’s faces are solemn and harsh looking;
They look like they’re ready to face a demon.

I can feel some nausea;
I started to wish I never came at all;
The sun’s rays burn our bare skin.

A bullet is whizzing;
It makes contact with my head;
I fall to the sandy ground;
I am a red blanket.

My mates all run;
Pounding footsteps and gun-fire burst your eardrums;
No-one stops to help me up;
No-one asks if I’m ok….
Because you see... I am as good as dead…