JUNGLE
A FIGHT TO THE DEATH
I don't want to die in this steaming hell.
The night sounds, buzzing mosquitos, flapping wings, and scurrying animals, are somehow……different.
There is an added sound; the bending of wet grass, lots of it.
Our bellies press against the rotting earth. Our rifles aim into the sweltering blackness.
I adjust my night vision goggles and realize that the jungle is moving. Everywhere.
They are too many.
I pray that in the darkness they will pass.
The silence is maddening.
My fear becomes a murderous rage.
Screaming, I fire into the smoldering night.
About the Creator
mark william smith
I have been writing now as a hobby for 20 years.
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