The rebels take you and make you a man. We are your family now. The Government call you boys. You are men.
The powder dulled the pain of an empty stomach. It made the gun feel warm and familiar. The chants became a rhythmic trance. “Kill, Strike, Rape”
Who was the woman in the centre of the swirling mass of black? He could not remember. It did not matter.
“Kill, Strike, Rape”
part 2. (see Mcdonalds) I’m trying something new, very short scribblings as i get bursts of inspiration. I feel this story deserves the best I can give it, because of who it belongs to.