Waiting For The End
Ben Woodiwiss

The Prussians have been in Paris for a while now, but I'm not going to do a damn thing about it.

There's gunfire everyday, most of the time I crawl around on my belly like a worm, which is what I am.

I should fight, I should get out there and defend my country, but for some reason I don't want to. It's not fear, nor cowardice. It's something I can't work out.

Yesterday, while I was lying on the floor, reading, a burst of gunfire came in through the window, hit the ceiling. Glass shattered, a piece of soft sandstone hit the floor. But even this doesn't make me want to get out there.

At night I smoke. Stare at the windows. Wait for the sun to come up. God alone knows why I don't get out there. Get my freedom back. But I don't, and I won't.

So I just sit here, reading, waiting for it all to end.

First published: August 2005
comments to the writer: Knob'sWriter@iceflow.com