S.D. Martin

Guerilla

Guerilla “Everybody uses you in one way or another.” This was the stench of sheer unadulterated warfare. Bodies of dead rebels and soldiers littered the battlefield. The aura of this place intrigued me.. Even though I had been groomed since I was a child. This experience was all too real… There were no training dummies or drills taking place, no generals or lieutenants howling down on young reluctant rebels . I couldn’t believe my eyes… I wasn’t ready for this type of scenario… sure we always had prepared for this day but this encounter was much more surreal... yet I was drawn to it, blood rushing , heart pulsating like never before while anxiety and fervor took hold of me violently. Before I realized I was already rushing into battle and losing myself within my own compulsiveness, Soon I had become the hero of the battlefield. Eyes fixated on the conqueror I had become. With each slash, stab, penetration I had begun to lose myself eventually into a dream I found to be pleasant. I wanted more , war cries became a melody, blood an exotic beauty, death as if it had been made just for me. That all too pleasant dream? A nightmare. Me a conqueror? Loser. Hero? Vigilante. I had lost myself in a battle and found myself in the abyss. Finally sentient and conscious when it was too late. I had not only killed our enemies… I had also killed my brethren as well. My friends, mentors, family. This truth I could not accept… rationalize… I’m not sure what happened after that. I awoke in a stranger's home “Guerilla” he called me.