Sunday, December 11, 2022

Kill or be Killed (thanks, Muse)

 One. Two. Three. Bounds, I’m out the door. Parachute strapped. Guns loaded. For a fleeting second a sociopath comes to play and tells me to shoot my comrades. I tuck it away for another moment. Pin drop to gain speed. Camouflage blending us into the night. I want to pull at the last possible moment. A flirt with death before I gift her souls to guide. 

Boots touch down, propelling me forward into a roll as I disengage the shoot. Guns drawn we move in formation. We’re a machine. We trust in each other and yet understand at — Any. Given. Moment. — we will snap. Delta went last week. Motherfucker looked like cocaine on a Sunday.

Wordless commands as we search for the target. I step out of line. Sound to the East. Papa looks back and I nod. She understands and directs the rest of them. Three join me to flank. We pick up speed and the voices get clearer. Language I can’t understand. Charlie stops and listens. Fist in the air. We wait, tense and ready. She sizes up the building and starts scaling. Target acquired. The flicker of excitement passes to each of us as we swarm.  Sounds of popcorn riddles the skies. Sticky sweet. 

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