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  1. #1
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    Prisoner of War: Short Poetic Story

    Prisoner of War

    Jon Edwards


    Every day is a struggle. A new day brings a new way of death to sneak up on me. He is waiting for the time to take me, a time for my body, mind and spirit to give up on the fight for survival. This place, this horrid place is slowly destroying me. My hope to return home safely dwindles every day. Just as a candle flickers at the end of the wick, I can feel my life giving its last dance before the eternal end. And what saddens me most, is I am probably in the best condition, compared to the other prisoners of war who have been captured by the Japanese. Everywhere I look is the same, everyone is the same. Each person has had their spirit shattered; it is visible in their depressed and hopeless faces. I feel the tears well up in my eyes every time I see someone who reminds me of one of my platoon. And now, another weight has been added to my shoulders. What became of them? I was knocked unconscious, left with no memory of the day leading up to the incident of my capture. But I must wash my mind of these thoughts. I am all I have left, and even now, I am slowly losing myself in the depression of prisoner life. A life in a prisoner of war camp is not a life at all. My mind grows weary, my world, dark, and I am left to die slowly. But that can wait. A new day brings a new way of death to sneak up on me, tomorrow brings a great risk for more life.

    The day has come. The day for life and death. A day of risk. The guns went off early in the morning, an alarm set by our captors. Three shots fired, the cracks rocked the bones and minds of every weary prisoner. I looked around. The weak, the frail, and the malnourished surround me, slowly wasting away to dust and nothingness. My pride perked up and attacked my mind. How am I allowing myself to waste away and be spiritually shattered like my fellow prisoners? I walked outside to meet the line up. A brisk wind blew through, chilling the bones and freezing the blood. The Japanese guards lined us up, and walked through, checking the number which had been branded on our wrist. They spoke in their native language, and I could not help but wonder what they were saying. I let my mind wander and the guard came in front of me. He waited for me to hold my hand out and show him my number, but my weary, wandering mind was not paying attention to him. For a split second, my imagination carried me away from this hell, and I was free, lying on a beach, relaxing by the water. I was quickly brought back to reality with a large hit in the gut from the butt of his gun. I coughed and spluttered, spitting a light tinge of red. He barked at me in what I found to be a barbaric language. I stood and met his gaze. His face, practically touching mine, he screamed in my face, prodding his gun in the same spot he had just beaten. As much as my mind protested, my body acted with a spark from my fighting spirit. I hocked back, and spat a large wad of blood into his face. The last thing I remember is the butt of the gun colliding with my face, breaking my nose and causing blood to pour off my face.

    The last straw. I had reached the breaking point. A point where my once strong pride had taken its last demoralising hit. The point that would push me to act with insanity, and take the risk of a better life, or be greeted by the eternal peace of death. I stood by the fence that kept us in this living hell, gazing out at the lands that surrounded us. I heard the guards talking; their voices began to rise in anger and frustration. I look back, they are pointing at me. I play it smart, walk away from the fence and begin plotting my escape. I sit down, and glance around the small, compact prisoner of war camp. I canít afford to take anyone with me; I refuse to put anyone elseís fate in my hands. These people gave up on themselves long ago; they gave up on a life outside of the fences and away from these guards. I see the fear in their eyes, the acceptance of death that is on their faces. Men who were once valiant members of the army, who were willing to risk it all for their country, but now, they wonít even risk it all for themselves, for their free lives. Instead, they are demoralised to the point of accepting a slow death of malnutrition and captivity. My mind was now made, my decision final. Tonight I escape. Tonight I either gain life, or feel the cold of death grip me. The night will hide my path, and hide my body. The night is the only chance I have. Out of the darkness I will spring, to experience the light of life once more.

    Night crept into the camp, and I readied myself. We were rallied, getting our numbers taken down for the last time of this day. My last day in hell. The guard took my number and walked onto the next prisoner. I waited, patiently for a distraction. The man two down from me coughed in the guards face as he got his number checked. The guard grabbed him by the neck, and throw him towards the two guards who were watching over the rest of us. They began to kick him viciously; his bony body was curled, taking each brutal kick. I stepped back, and slipped into the shadows, crouching over to the edge of the fence, where the shadows were darkest. The prisoners were ordered inside, and they obeyed, without question, like well trained dogs. I watched in disgust. The guards each returned to their posts, overlooking the outside of the camp. I could easily get to the gate, for the moon was hidden by a covering of clouds. The run would prove to be my saviour or my reaper. I crouched low, and advanced towards the gate, hugging the fence and the shadows which covered them. I was no less than ten meters from the fence, when a loud voice called out. Unsure whether I was found or not, I wasted no time finding out. I stood, took a step and began to run. More calls and shouts echoed around the camp, and the first shots were fired, dropping at my feet. I ran faster than I imagined, my malnourished body pumped with adrenaline was surprisingly nimble. I reached the outside of the camp and kept running. The cracks of gunshots still echoing, bullets still tore past me. I dove into the bushes, and planted myself against a tree, where I waited for the search to begin.

    At least an hour passed by my count. I decided it was time to begin the walk. I hadn't seen any searches go on yet. I stood up, spread my arms out and stretched my legs, breathing in the free air. And then, the crack. A gunshot in the distance fired and my body went numb and hot. I looked down at my chest. A hole was punctured through the left part of my chest and steamed in the cool of the night. I tried to breathe in, but my breath caught, instead my lungs were filled with a burning heat. The blood trickled down from my chest to my gut. I collapsed to my knees and looked up towards the sky. The clouds were beginning to reveal the moon to the night, and stars dotted the caliginous sky. I smiled at the freedom that I had gained. The moonís light was fading; I fell, laying on my back, staring at the beauty of the night sky. A deep and dark sleep encompassed me, peace washed over me and I lay, still smiling at the stars and moon of the sanguine sky.

  2. #2
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    Re: Prisoner of War: Short Poetic Story

    I read the first 2 paragraphs and I really enjoyed it so far, you're really good at this!

    I should start posting in this section more often.

  3. #3
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    Re: Prisoner of War: Short Poetic Story

    Thanks Lith

  4. #4
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    Re: Prisoner of War: Short Poetic Story

    Would love to get more comments on this.

  5. #5
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    Re: Prisoner of War: Short Poetic Story

    http://www.tallenge.com/vote/vote0.aspx ... &ref=Email

    If you guys haven't voted, please do so!


 

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