Battle - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Upon this battleground there are blindfolds around our hearts and our thoughts are caged by fear. I want to crawl over this mud and blood, over the spent shells and the sand bags and give you the kind of hug I give those I love. I want to hear of your dreams and hopes, to tell you of my own, so that we may climb out together and sing of what we discovered, you and me. The battle is inside us, is it not? The one to take the blindfold from the heart and to remove the cage from our thoughts.
It was right out of the same old playbook - dehumanize, destabilize, antagonize - offer an easy solution - always war. That's how the psychopaths rule and even knowing their strategies never helps. It's human nature to think ourselves smarter, or that this situation is different. Even the children of the enemy were characterized as future criminals of the worst kind - is there anything worse than reducing the humanity of a child? The battle was promised to be short, a tactical advantage to our side, almost no casualties for "us." And then those who were schooled on the horrors of world war II began world war III.
Under the chill of the mist that spreads over this Flanders field, Timothy fumbles the cold barrel of the Stokes Mortar. Ben puts the base plate at his feet on the sodden mud floor of the trench and Kenneth lowers the bipod. All together this new weapon is over a hundred pounds, but it can fire over twenty five bombs a minute into the enemy trenches from over eight hundred yards away. It can do what the guns cannot, it can reach into the enemy hiding places with it's curved path. Bullets can only go in straight lines and kill one at a time. Then Timothy does the unthinkable, he wants to know the right angle and the mist is making it difficult to work out the enemy position. Without awaiting an order he shimmies over the top and commando crawls toward the enemy. Nothing. So he gets up on his knees and peers into the swirling white, tinged with the muddy green of the field. A violent noise cracks into the startled air and he does not need to look down to know he's hit, that it is fatal.
The acrid smell of stale gunpowder envelops my nasal cavities. The war has grudged on for two years now. My sanity is on the verge of extinction. Perhaps that is a good thing. At the very least, I'd be allowed to leave this nightmarish dystopia. As I look around, all I can see is stray limbs and dead creatures - once fine young men, who now are no longer recognizable as human. Then the gunfire starts.
They said that it would be over by Christmas, but now Christmas is a long lost dream. Each body that plunges to the ground is a lost child, father, brother, friend, husband. They are - or were - suitcases for the only thing that really mattered in the world - li ...
Just days ago a death would have been headline news, to see a corpse would be something to seek the counsel of friends about - no longer. These streets we once roamed singing with half-drunk beers have become a battle field. Previously innocuous garden walls are a place for the lawless to hide, those who wish for anarchy over order. They hate us for fitting in with the old system, for working all our lives for a few sick years of retirement... What did they ever do but find the easiest paths, freeload... what do they think this new society will be, who will work? Food can't be dreamt up and roads don't make themselves. They aren't so much Robin Hood as harbingers of a meaner era - the revolutionaries who will soon be the guarding their new dictator.
In a field that has seen thousands of years of peace lie cold corpses, and still the weapons are fired without stop, without a single witness. The battle is mechanized and even when no more heat signatures remain they will fire until empty - more profit for the bomb makers. The machines have no PTSD, no empathy, no remorse, never fail to kill on command. They don't know what it is to be human, what they "decommission" on electronic orders, yet they have been given the status of artificial life by our enemies and to "kill"one carries the stiffest of penalty even though they are backed up in the data cloud. The only escape is the underground bunkers, deep under rock, protected from their sensors. We can't live this way forever, like human-rabbits in our warren. One day there will be one last battle - them or us, no truce, no captives.
The sonic weapons bore a hole so big that nothing can save the person hit. It looks like they've been impaled on a thick pole. There is no odour, just the tell-tale noise, a screech of sorts. With the auto targeting every shot is a direct hit to the chest - right through the heart. It is it sound of our nightmares in this urban battle field, every electro-whine meaning we lost another person we love. Yet to the enemy we are vermin, branded since our low-status births. They no longer need us, to these psychos our lives are that worthless.
You would think that in this battle we'd loose right away, given the ability of the enemy to do what they wish above the law. They can't risk too many moves though, for we have the weight of numbers. That's the problem with being in the elite – by definition you are vastly outnumbered. And so we take the battle to them on our terms. Lucky for them we seek peace and allow them to exit the stage with their lives. It is the final battle of the war between the light and the dark. Leo thinks that part of them wants us to win too, that they know their "end game" makes them evil by definition, worse than any pariah in history.
This battle is for you. I fight for you. I see you suffer, confused, your aura one of fear and doubt. There is guilt there also, actions you cannot undo, for the past is only closed doors. You cannot follow me unless you trust and it is I that have been sent to win you over; it is my task to earn your trust and should I fail, the failure is mine to bare. It is my eyes you will see when your time of peace has come, when it is your turn to cross the waters to us. I am your personal guide, the one to answer your questions and quiet your soul. When you are ready, when you are calm, I will simply take your hand and explain whatever it is you need to know. It isn't over for you - you have journeys to travel before you can even know which questions to ask or understand why you need my help. When you are ready I will come, then we will walk, me and you, to the place we call paradise. I will warn you dear love, that the battles can be hard. Battles can break you and leave you for dead just to see if you can get up again. Battles can teach through lessons that are cruel, but if that is the only way to save you then your path is set. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst and know that I have your back. Ultimately, your safety is won no matter how terrible the path, be brave, I'm never far.
The ship's big guns boomed once, spilling fire and smoke into the night sky. But Mr Hirst was right - the shells flew well beneath the Leviathan, erupting into white columns of water kilometers away.
Men screamed in pain clutching their grievous wounds as bows twang sending snakes of deaths into the never ending army. The castle walls stood high defiantly in face of such ferious siege weapon its proud back straight. The siege towers lumbered on slowly at a snail pace. "Fire!" The captain ordered suddenly as catapults unleashed waves of death destroying siege weapons and burning men alike. The sun beat down on them furiously as the heat wave continued unaffected at such chaos. Catapults and trebeuchets fired from both sides furiously trying to gain the advantage. Rams battered at the gate as oil ran down with feet men ran in anguish as they were burnt from the magma substance they screamed until they couldn't until they rested into nothingness. The battle continued.