The Army

A quick metaphorical story about my mother. (Metaphorical is what it is called, right?)

The determined army charges the gates. The army's fury and pride drive it forward. After a surprise attack from the enemy, they tell themselves that they will win this time. Their heads are held high, the look in their eyes would scare even the most experienced militant.

They break through the gates. Victory is close. So close that the army can taste in on their parched tongues. They are hungry for a win, and now they are so close.

Raising their rifles, they take aim. Shots are fired; the enemy is squickly cut down. It won't take long now before the enemy crumbles. Now, the army is ready to take the win. Throwing their guns down, they rush in with knives, swords, or just their bare hands.

It doesn't take much to make the enemy fall, especially when the army knows the enemy's weaknesses. With a few swipes of the sword, enemies are brought down left and right.

 

This army is my mother. And she is ready to run into battle with anyone that stands in her way. Her enemy will never win, because she knows exactly how to make you feel like the worst person ever. She knows what to say to make you cry.

I hate her for it, because she is always making me the enemy.

Author's Note

Honest reviews please

Reviews

[{A}shley {B}lack @-;-]

Loved this write the second read through with your mother in mind really set this piece apart I really enjoyed reading this keep them coming

100/100

[GrandDystopia]

Wow, this is something very differant from what you usually write and it's pretty powerfull stuff, did not expect the ending.
Nice work:)