Random Writing 2
The patrol had been out three days now, and waiting was a tiresome thing. Already the men were restless, a small thing like that and my "elite guardsmen" where already trembling with unfounded fears of an impending invasion. Being a captain is no easy task let me tell you, and a captain I was. Captain of a bloody lot of reckless and foolhardy children, a lot so green that the scribes would make more experienced soldiers. That was the mess I was stuck with, captain of the greenest company in the legion, captain of the 26th company of the 8th Legion of the Amalosin Royal Army.
The war with Altaron had raged on for 4 years now, but our army seemed to have the upper hand. Still, with so much conqured land on our hands, even the greatest Army the world had yet seen was stretched to breaking point. Things were so bad that untried and untested companies like ours where entrusted with the great task of defending our border with Saladar.
The Saladari were by no means push-overs. Just one of their puny 12-man warbands would crush our 50 strong company into nothing in seconds. Fortunately for us, we weren't at war with them. We still had to patrol the borders however, for ours was not the greatest Army in the land for no reason, we left no ground unwatched, left no opening for our enemies and struck with utter precision and ruthlessness. But our last patrol had failed to return and it was getting difficult to control the yearning of our to pack up and run for Fort Zarion.
Border Company 25 of the 8th legion on the Eastern front my weekly report began,
The patrol we sent out 3 days ago has failed to return.
The Saladari show no sign of any preparations for any attack, all is calm on the border. Our current supplies will las.... I put the well-worn quill on the log and looked to the sky, day was dawning on us and it would be a hard one. I called across our ramshackle camp to my brother, the only other real soldier in this god-forsaken wilderness for miles around. He was busy fletching arrows with those black-tipped grey feathers he liked so well. "What is it Geron" he asked," the lads getting on your nerves again?". "Aye that patrol is taking a long time to make a one day routine day run" I rested my hand on a knee and lit a pipe. "They probably got lost round the sand cliffs" he shrugged,"who knows and who cares, its not like anyone would care about this backwater." I opened my mouth to reply but was silenced by a familiar cry, one that I had heard before in my prime when I served in the 1st legion in the Saladari War. My brother cursed and jumped to his feet, I drew my long sword, its blade was etched with cuts and blackened with rust but it served its purpose well enough. I ran forward and joined the slaughter.....
Advertising
Hey everyone, if you're from my school, fairfield methodist, you'll know that we have a crappy subject called R&D. In this "subject", we form groups to do specific projects that last a duration of roughly 3 quarters of the year. Now my group is doing the project referred to as the "coffee chain" in which we are tasked with creating a feasible business plan for the setting up of a coffee-selling/making enterprise.
As a part of my groups swordproof, axeproof, fireproof, waterproof and absoulutely everything except idiot proof plan, we are launching an advertising campaign via the hugely new and popular internet medium that everyone who reads this will know about, namely, blogs. I call upon all my friends and whoever who happens to read this to spread the word about my group's coffee chain idea which happens to be called
Bistre Coffee or
Bliss-tre Coffee depending on whos side your on but thats internal politics and its very nasty so i won't go over it.
Anyway whichever name you like better, please do spread the word about are fabulous idea. If you want more information on this idea, simply ask me through msn or email or whichever medium is most convenient to you. You can also ask Clarence, our illustrious group leader, at firebred.karu@gmail.com.
Thanks all
Random Writing
The rain beat down, running over his dark crimson cloak. With a tired shrug he tried unsuccessfully to shake off the weariness that clouded his mind and addled his senses. He walked slowly across the dead bodies of his comrades, crossing the blood-soaked field and sat at the foot of a tall black oak. He had been waiting for the second legion, but it had never come. How long he had walked that field he did not know. On the horizon the battered ruins of a long forgotten castle stood, its charred walls lifeless and empty. The stone was thick with ivy and its proud walls had crumbled, what were once tall spires lay in piles of rubble and the gatehouse was kept standing only by the grace of the elements.
As he sat at the tree, he looked at his hand and noticed belatedly that it wasn't there. His arm was covered in cuts and burned that criss-crossed the well-worn chainmail covering it. The arm ended in his charred stump of a hand which was well severed at the point slightly below the wrist. It had been burned to cleanse the wound of illness and had been crudely covered in a torn shred of his cloak. Out of the stump, greenish yellow puss had oozed out onto the cloth, staining it and making the entire mess look like a balloon puffed up with vommit. His other hand appeared fine except that it lacked perhaps a finger or two and with this hand he undid the clasp that held his cloak around his neck and let it drop to the bloody mud. There lodged in the right side of his chest was a long and slender arrow. Its feathers were grey tipped with black and its slender shaft was yew wood. The arrow was familiar, he remembered the tree from which it had came. It had been a slender one, not too far from the quiet village where he lived. He sat there in the mud and rain and looked out at the crude wooden cross that stood at the edge of the field. It stood, gaunt and defiant against the rain, on a small hill next to the ruined castle. Beneath it lay his comrade in arms who fought beside him at more battles than he could count. His friend who stood by him when all else had failed. But more than any of those the buried man was his brother, who he would have lived for, fought for and died for.
He sat there, bone-stiff and sore, he was weary, too weary. Waiting for his first battle when he could prove himself. Waiting for his comrades to get their act together and take the fight to the enemy. Waiting for the weather to improve so their wuss of a commander would stop hiding in a ruined castle. Waiting for his own death, he wished it would come faster, then he wouldn't have to think about the shocked look on his brother's face when he had put his sword through him. That look tore at him, ripping the already flayed remnants of his consciousness. It stained him with guilt as his brother's blood had stained his cloak crimson. He lay at the tree as the last threads of life slipped away from him, thinking his last thoughts, of regret and sadness. Then he was gone, and all that remained was his corpse with his brother's arrow in his chest and a tear that rolled silently from his eye.
-note to self: maybe i should spend less time writing nonsense and more time studying for A maths tests that i have to take tomorrow-
And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda
When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said son
It’s time to stop rambling ’cause there’s work to be done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played waltzing matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed off to gallipoli
How well I remember that terrible day
When the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called suvla bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He showered us with bullets, he rained us with shells
And in five minutes flat he’d blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to australia
But the band played waltzing matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
And we buried ours and the turks buried theirs
Then it started all over again
Now those who were living did their best to survive
In that mad world of blood, death and fire
And for seven long weeks I kept myself alive
while the corpses around me piled higher
Then a big turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, christ I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
and no more I’ll go waltzing matilda
to the green bushes so far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing matilda for me
So they collected the cripples, the wounded and Maimed
And they shipped us back home to australia
the legless, the armless, the blind and insane
Those proud wounded heroes of suvla
And as our ship pulled into circular quay
I looked at the place where me legs used to be
And thank christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played waltzing matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
and they turned all their faces away
And now every april I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
i see my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving their dreams of past glory
i see the old men, all twisted and torn
The forgotten heroes of a forgotten war
And the young people ask me, what are they marching for?
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays waltzing matilda
And the old men still answer to the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all
Waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda
Who’ll go a-waltzing matilda with me?
-A Song about war by Eric Bogle-
