The Soldier

It’s time for battle.

My comrade has left me to defend for myself,

Leaving to secure his own safety,

Tired of protecting such a weakling.

I have been trained for this moment,

Ever since I could toddle,

Learning the ways of camouflage,

How not to catch the eye of the enemy.

Since my safety depends on my own hands.

 

These rules go through my brain as I storm the night,

Wearing black to mask my presence in the darkness.

My weapon is ready in my hand at all costs,

Ready to strike at the slight press of a stranger’s fingertips.

My body has deep wounds and scars,

Running down in a roadmap,

Leading to a twisted destination.

My mind flashes back to the pain of my last tour,

Being tortured over and over again,

As I lift my hands in surrender,

Captive to the will of my torturer,

A prisoner of war.

 

My mind switches to high alert,

As the sounds of sirens can be heard in the distance,

Reminding all of those foolish to stalk the field,

Of the upcoming danger.

I run through the battlefield,

Avoiding the tanks crowding the streets,

Who are ready to crush me at any moment,

The driver blinded by the darkness around his eyes.

 

In the distance echoes the screams and shrieks,

Of my fellow comrades who have fallen,

My knees too weak and shaky to go back,

To change my course and save them,

Their screams bringing shivers down my spine,

As I realize I will see their face in the news.

Yet in the morning, the blame will be put on,

Their lack of defense and incompetence.

I am no different at that moment then,

The civilians hiding in the comforts of their homes,

Blocking out the sounds of the warfare just beyond their door,

Drowning out the inhumanity beyond their walls,

Not wanting to become a warrior or a hero,

For who knows the strategy of the enemy?

 

The enemy is prowling and stalking my every move,

Noticing my frantic movements,

A sign of vulnerability,

Enjoying the sight of my face on his scope,

Relishing the thrill of the kill of this fine, wounded creature.

He creeps in the shadows of my footsteps,

I clutch the weapon in my hand until my knuckles turn white,

Rushing and scampering to the safety of my hole,

Like the mouse I am.

His footsteps increase in accordance to mine,

Creating a rhythm that my heartbeats follow.

With the battle map well memorized,

I disappear around the corner,

Leading him to angrily search and pursue me,

While I am climbing up the steps to my base,

Locking myself in my only safe-haven,

Grateful for surviving another mission.

I carefully tuck away,

 My pink pepper spray,

 For the next battle,

Not receiving any medals for my bravery,

But that’s what happens when you are a woman,

Strolling through the streets of your neighborhood.