July 7, 2010 - 2:01pm — Sonata
The life Death of a soldier
In my life. there were three things that kept me going.
My work, tending the tailor's shop that my father had passed down.
My dog, a mutt, creatively named 'Dog'
And my neighbor's home baked cakes.
And later, a fourth thing. The idea of 'my country'
When I had heard the whisperings of America becoming its own country, I was hesitant, but in the end, my heart was won over.
Which is how I found myself in the camp, a bag on my shoulder, Dog at my side.
Training was brutal, and there weren't many of us at first, as if some people didn't think it was worth it.
People were picked off quickly at first, it was horrible, we were simply outnumbered.
You do not know terror until you watch your friends falling dead at your sides, not that they were any big fights, nothing to write about.
However!
Either the idea caught on, or someone sent back up, because our numbers began to grow quickly, they were saying that France was going to send help.
I really hoped they would hurry.
I was a paranoid wreck, constantly, any little sound, sent me into a cold sweat.
Dog was always there of course and if it was anything to fear he would start barkin' but it didn't do much for my poor nerves.
Each night I went to sleep with a gun at my side and slept with one eye open.
Man, this guy just keeps
My conclusion? This is amazing *rollsalloverit*
XD /rolls with/ DogDogDog~
/rolls with/
DogDogDog~