DOWN THE ROAD

images of women holding there dead sons in the streets of a desert country, time will tell if the sand will be washed of the red stains, we were told that no one is allowd in this town anymore, we storm and raid house after house, smells of incense and spices mixed with gun powder, women children and men all ripped from house after house, you can take nothing, bind there hands and blind folld them throw them screaming and crying into the backs of trucks, seperate and interagate the men, stop crying shut up, tell them to shut up, sit down you cant get up, miles down the road we dragg them out on to the side of the desert road and have them sit all lined up, facing the same way take there blindfolds off to see just piercing fear in eyes of ancient people, women in black clothing from the time of jesus in the land of christ and the birth place of humantity yet we are now all among the walking dead, the womens eyes were so tragicly beautifully exotic and i would think they could see into my heart that i was so sorry, i couldnt say it at the time but...tears trailing down the mens dirty faces, dirty faces looking at our dirty faces, the fear of what was to come, men and the children would wet themselves as they sat to hear a speech that america is here to help them and free them that we will give each family twenty american dollars and after we untie them they are to start running down the road, that if they turn around they will be shot, that they can not return to their homes but have to travel down this desert road to who knos where...to watch this, to be apart of this would cause men to suic.... we would untie them and have a translator tell them to get up and start running but they would be frozen in this heat and someone would have to yell, Move, then as if they have been through this all before at some different time they begin running for their lives, which is a strange and skeletal run, as they ran past me the women search my eyes for help but quickly see that i have also lost my humanity and as the ran past further down the road i see only their backs and they become once again a faceless nameless group of animals kicking up dust like a herd of lost camels in the desert searching for empathy during a drought of the soul...by r.shilling