Ondine

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Ondine
She's got everything she needs, She's an artist, she don't look back. She's got everything she needs, She's an artist, she don't look back. She can take the dark out of the nighttime And paint the daytime black. --Bob Dylan

2004-10-18 9:40 AM
The Grunt

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Mood:
Angry

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--This is from a writing excercise given to us in VP. We were supposed to write a story with a viewpoint opposite to our own. I don't think this is publishable, so posting it here--

The Grunt

Let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the floor.
Drowning Pool fills our helmets. We all listen to the same song. We are a team, man. We are the US of A. We are your worst nightmare, your retribution. You want Jihad. Watch this.
One--something’s gotta give.
I kick the door open, shattering it, rotten like this village, like the terrorists. They scream and scatter hiding behind doors, under beds.
I see my buddies blown to bits, the twin towers turning to dust. The photo of my daughter and wife stuck in my helmet. She was born after I shipped out. She was born while I am here in this shit hole of sand.
I pull them from their hiding places and slam them against the wall. I can’t hear them screaming. The music is too loud.
Two--something’s gotta give.
Terrorists, all a bunch of fucking terrorists, against the walls mother fuckers! That was my buddy driving that jeep. That is my country. Sadam--Ossama, who the fuck cares. You’re all the same. You hate us. Well here’s a news flash. We fucking hate you back.
Three--something’s gotta give.
I am all that stands between you and them. I am the wall between freedom and all that is good and right and you fucking terrorist Muslim scum.
I see the fear on your face but I can’t hear you with the music blasting in my brain. Good old American rock and roll.
Four!
We watch the old newsreels during the wakings.
“This is how you gotta fight,” Sarge tells us. “We’re taking this fucking planet from the Katar and we ain’t gonna be no bleeding hearts about it. That’s not why we are crossing light years. That’s not what they want back home. They want blood, Katar blood. Remember, you are all that stands between earth and these fanatic scum. Fuck, man, they aren’t even human. Fucking green aliens. Remember, it’s us or them. You can’t have both in this universe.”
The lights go out and the last thing I hear is the hiss of gas putting me back to sleep. I dream of deserts and blood.
Our final wake up starts with cheers as we see bombs flashing on our view screens. Bombs exploding over Katar.
Shock and Awe.
It worked two hundred years ago for old George W and it will work for us. We are the U.S. of A. We own Earth and we will own the universe. We have to or they’ll overrun us.
The old songs play in our helmets as we board the transporters.
Let the bodies hit the floor. Let the bodies hit the floor. Let the bodies hit the floor.

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