Sep 221987

I sat atop the bunker, silently surveying my surroundings. Nothing moved across the battleground save a few pigeons: carrion feeding on the fallen. Not a sound was carried upon the autumn breeze, but that was not surprising; the enemy was advancing from downwind.

Finding the silence quite unnerving and realizing that I was fairly visible, I jumped down from the Dumpster into a crouch. The stick slung over my shoulder scratched my cheek, drawing blood. Yet, so intense was my pursuit, I ignored the pain and focused my attention on the slight movement at the corner of the dilapidated, burned out hovel. My enemy, most hated foe, doer of evil deeds and war criminal who must be vanquished. I gripped my machine pistol more tightly and began advancing upon the villain’s hiding place. The closer I got, the more my insides churned and swirled, the more nervously excited I became. I reached the corner of the house, raised my pistol, and dived around the corner, gun blazing.


I saw the fiend’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in anger. He raised his machine gun and fired at me as I hit the ground.

“Ba-a-a-a-a-am! Gotcha!”

“Nu-uh, I had you before you even saw me!”

“Bull, man, you missed ’cause you was jumpin’! You’re dead, stupid!”

“You’re the one’s who’s dead, you cheater!” I yelled at him. He threw down his machine gun, causing the rotting stick to break.

“If you won’t play right and die, I quit!” And with that said, my best friend stalked angrily homeward. I turned; and, with the hose nozzle that had served as my pistol hanging loosely from my hand, I walked, victorious and defeated, towards the distant light shining into the deepening dusk. Headquarters.

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