The guns fell silent. A hot sun blazed overhead as nearby men pissed against trees and others vomited from fear. We trembled in silence as we looked into the eyes of our brothers, knowing it may the last time. Suddenly a rabbit darted out from a bush, running away as fast as he could and I wished I could be like that rabbit. Today we were to enter the realm of history, our names forever emblazoned upon the Mantle of Glory. Out of the woods we surged toward the open field. A silent wave of men unleashed to crash upon enemy walls. The wave swelled.
A mighty thunder erupted from the wall. Great gaping holes were made in the wave as men fell legless, armless, headless, yet forward the wave rolled. With each clap of thunder came more death, the wave grew weaker turning into a fine mist, reaching towards Heaven. Soon the wave was gone, the battered wall withstood.
The wave now lies beneath the earth, their “Glory” reduced to nothing. Unknown to the strangers who swept the field and gathered them up. Nameless to those who dug the trenches in which their remains were dropped. Like the fields and orchards stained with the blood of the fallen, so too are cheeks stained with tears. Cheeks of the widows, the mothers, the daughters and the sons of this and future generations. Only despair is found in the living.
Those of us who survived toil on a land we do not own. We harvest fruit we cannot eat. We build homes in which we shall never live. A life of brevity compels us to work a land we will never inherit. We are the vanquished. Forgotten, we live in sorrow and hunger, our children like shadows. Alas, this is the legacy and misfortune of defeat.
Now I wait for the angels to gather me from this place where I have been abandoned. I pray too, that God has not abandoned me and that I may be freed from this calamity which was unknown to those who preceded us. For we have become the destitute. The lowest rank of mankind.