Spiralling

00:39 shifts on the A-11 sitting on my wrist, glaring at me in the night's beam; the corner of my right eye spots a few moments of bombings transforming the air with a voluminous stream. Further down west is the side of the other team. As I continue to walk Northwest, plotting my own scheme, clocking the hours for the sake of my scouring means, I double check the barrel of my M1 Garand rifle and its shells, in case anything goes sour, preparing for anything extreme. There is a star so strong above, it looks as if it's staring at me, beyond the smoky screen. Or is it apparent that the propaganda that the assistance of carrots made this young man mighty to peer, to tear through the shades of darkness amidst this war's toll. What a tragedy measured up for a strategic ergonomic and especially economic goal. Though I bear and pray for repair. We are a world of many nations that have to be specifically right here, because of that my dear we cannot cheer; the mental confusions tied to this alternate universal force of violence implies fear.

I am brushing in between the bushes of this nation's backwoods, in a rush— operating through the sudden silence, sorting out this incredible intuition in my heart and stomach that grasps— compelling me, it tells me “Turn back, you fool! This is no good, the prelude to this semblance deals like it is a SNAFU.” I am a chicken in despair, desperate because it appears the enemy is near; though there's still silence. Not a sight in the air or grounds, I don't even see a movement from anything around, not even an animal behind the mounds. With the exception of myself; nought surrounds. The idea to cache has passed because the veil over my head has been unveiled and I find myself unconcealed in an open field. It is not for my zeal, my intentions were not for complexity, mistaking my ordeal, it was not ideal to be exposed when the enemy is hungry for a meal. 1939 is not a fine time for my Canadian behind on this dime on these British Expeditionary Forces lines to become inclined.

Opened on a broad meadow plane, I feel so ashamed, though no one is in sight to call out blame on my name. Yet there is still a calm and mellow around your fellow— this guy right here Soldier Dan Charmello, ready to shake things up in this game; wait, why can't I hear my thoughts explain— the ambiance is still eerily tame, it's insane. My oh my it seems this eager beaver has meticulously crafted a gobbledygook circumstance, my operation has gone wrong, I should not have allowed the anticipation to carry on as prolonged as I whistled my favourite song for so long. While operating to abandon the military throng, from where I belong. The desire to be a single-handed war hero has left me at ground zero. Oh what a fat-head I can be— “why!” I yell so high, my expedition may cause me to die, Lord don't let this imply! Suppose I still can impose, who knows? What I wear is not only clothes, it is a uniform of courage— “do not be discouraged!” I say aloud to myself; I will maintain to move stealthily and garner what I've felt.

I cannot gloat, soon everyone will know the G.O.A.T: General Obtained Avant-garde Trainee; in this mission's army. The size of this matter is no joke, they will touch the emblems running across my chest like a stroke ready to provoke the other soldiers who choked. When the Lieutenant-Generals see the cause they will pause and fast forward, excited to view the cannons burst on by, now that the Major-Generals are ready to rise and outshine, then they will know everything will be fine. Pour a cup and let's drink some more wine— the Blood of Christ, while we dine. “Bang-zook bam-booop” Guns blazing? I'm in amazement, as I look up to the sky— “Oh my!” Something so sublime. It terrifies. Holding my rifle so tight, with all my might and this invisible plight fights against my force to endorse the shots I need to withstand. Why can't I move my hand?

The lights in my eyes are spinning and vibrationally bumping the air and vision of the atmosphere. The forest with its trees appear greener with a radiant glow, vibrating from atop, glazing the roots and the weeds of this terranean floor. Should I run, or keep forcing myself to shoot my gun some more, I don't even know which way I can go. It just so happens I'm glued to this war's territorial control. Is this phenomenon with an eagle eye and a glim, pouring rays on my skin, the star from afar, now working my lucidity from within? Now above me with even more gore than this second war's bones have laid as décor. Jeepers! What do I spot with my peepers? I could relieve a stream down my legs, which is now immobilized like pegs. Moreso my concerns at this very second for sure, how do I get out of this web? That thing sees me! How can I confront what's in front of my face that's making me dread? I'm stuck as an ice cube in a freezer instead.

Dear Lord please ease— I hope He hears my plea. I am frightened by the possibility of how the operator of this device might make me bleed. I would rather be under a tree of bodies, ending up a casualty of war, then to be eaten, pummeled or taken by something swirling over my head with a bottom for its door. I don't know what's in store.

What visuals did it implant for my vision to be blurry? All I want to do is move in a hurry. Did I just spark my own superstition? From my prior intuition. Oh dear Lord, did the air of this disparity enlighten me to this unpredictability, unceasing my own credibility? This generation's humility is a future of instability. Canada is the land of the free and right about now I don't know if this thing governs in a democracy— free of hypocrisy, then again it's not governed anywhere in all honesty. 1239 in Roman numerals, as shown across steel. Stunningly embossed, studded with diamonds, such an appeal— so surreal! Are they kind or will something monstrous reveal? This show has my eyes wide opened— lids pried back like a banana peel. I am astonished by my own two eyes— wait, I still question to myself; is this really real?

*Gasp*! I've enabled a release, now I can run with my gun in peace, I've overcome, trying so hard not to stun. Now I can push forward out of the unearthly constricted leash— sheesh. Then, out of the blue, it looks like the embellished ship grew, there is a purview that is made about as new. I'm munificently impressed by the Roman Empire of jewels flying above the bark; then hark— squish and a squash; I am so surprised I have no inkling to summarize what has been dramatized. I am so lost. Will this finalize? Shocking, jaws dropping, I moved backwards and out of the silver platter— my empowerment just shattered like glass at the embark of a thrash.

Coming out of the flying dish it looks like a sea stranger that swims with the fish, tentacles of unnatural portions and visuals that will give you the heebie-jeebies, like you were given a death wish. This scenario is assertively unbelievable, it's associated— very much, with the thoughts of evil. Though my eyes clearly realize it's unimpeachable. Goosebumps rising up and down my arms and my neck; you'd think I was irrationally chilly due to a frozen breeze on a tundra, bitten by its cold peck. Am I meeting danger? What the heck! I am perplexed and frustratingly vex. I pray to baby Jesus in His magnificent manger, this prayer better be a life changer. My God, listen to me preparing my vigil, I'm so amazed, I can't disappear from this signal. It's hovering over as I glare in the air, this thing has me in a scare in this clear. I may as well be civil, as I stare.

I am kneeling down bottom to heels under the command of a flying saucer's will— of this psychoanalytic thrill, looking as though it might kill. Captured under its green light, the challenge was considerably undeniable; now I'm held up in its abode, that appears maniacal. My transition has placed me in this position, therefore I am reliable. Only God knows where this trip goes. Maybe I'm being taken to a home I didn't know. I guess this is what my prayers suggest, am I being rescued from my own mess? Or meeting my test— oh well, as I continue being lifted up into the empyrean being held by my chest. I can no longer stress.