forty-one

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sleepless nights.

the blood, d*mn, all the blood. on his clothes, on his hands, coming out of his best friend's f*cking chest.

the sirens penetrated his eardrums, the racing of his heart the only other noise above it. the grunts of fallen soldiers, the cries of children, lost and confused, their own blood dried into cuts from glass, glass shards in bottle explosives.

the smell of fire, fire everywhere, smoke, not the good kind.

his eyes closed slowly, against the agony and the fire. he breathed in one last time, the taste of burning brush on his tongue and fire's breath in his lungs.

he cursed the smoke, wished it was from tobacco, and fell unconscious.

~

a.n.

two chapters for this week! felt i had to seeing as they go hand-in-hand.

have a great day/night/whenever you're reading!

- sxbjective

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