Part 3- An Inkling of Genius
4.7.07 by I.R.
I visit an alienated military post in the country. The toll of war manifests itself in the faces of the young children. I spend lunch with close relations over cold potato soup, and discuss in harsh tones the repercussions of the coup. I am intrigued by the generosity of the people even in their time of frugality. I visit a sullen animal farm on the outskirts of the settlement and find myself grimacing at the bare-boned carcasses of long-ago consumed fowl and cattle. Shaking my head, I walk limply to the barracks. I anxiously contemplate returning to my pampered bungalow, inevitably to forsake all traces of this visit.
We always speak in rushed voices, discussing the war and our lost friends. As dusk begins to creep, incense is lit, and a priest utters a verse of prayer. The entire world seems silent, and I feel myself begin to drift into the infinite vacuum of space.
We always speak in rushed voices, discussing the war and our lost friends. As dusk begins to creep, incense is lit, and a priest utters a verse of prayer. The entire world seems silent, and I feel myself begin to drift into the infinite vacuum of space.
