For those times when you just feel like writing something, don't necessarily intend it to develop into anything...
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It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us the freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us the freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who gives us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protestor to burn the flag. - Father Dennis Edward O'Brien, USMC
The black world drifted slowly back to him. There under the trees, it must have been perhaps three or four in the morning, before any hint of the sun. The air was still quite chill - that explained his close proximity to the other two.
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It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us the freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us the freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who gives us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protestor to burn the flag. - Father Dennis Edward O'Brien, USMC
Soldiers don't do the protesting - that's the politicians.
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It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us the freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us the freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who gives us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protestor to burn the flag. - Father Dennis Edward O'Brien, USMC
He was tired, but at least was still alive.He was thankful he found that 1969 Army Field Manual earlier this morning from that abandoned house. With this he might be able to at least survive. He had to find a TV, maybe one of the stations was still operational. Right now though, food was more important. With the sun setting could barely see anything as he began passing into a thick forrest. He began to flip toward the back of the manual remembering the pictures of edible berries there.
Looking around for something that resembled the pictures he found, it was then that he spotted a fire up ahead. Two people sat at the fire, the first two he'd seen all day.
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"We have much to say about this, but it is hard to explain because you are slow to understand." Hebrews 5:11
Her eyes flicked to the side, away from the flames, though her face stayed forward. The snap of a twig had caught her attention. She made a small hissing sound through her teeth at the other across the fire as her hand went to rest close by her belt. She flicked her eyes back to the side as a way of pointing. He got the drift.
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"Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. It is the spirit of men who follow and of the man who leads that gains the victory." - George S. Patton
Irrate men in green clothing and black boots pick up their guns and protest aloud, "Not while we're alive you won't.
Care to explain that a little better?
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It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us the freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us the freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who gives us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protestor to burn the flag. - Father Dennis Edward O'Brien, USMC
Her eyes flicked to the side, away from the flames, though her face stayed forward. The snap of a twig had caught her attention. She made a small hissing sound through her teeth at the other across the fire as her hand went to rest close by her belt. She flicked her eyes back to the side as a way of pointing. He got the drift.
He moved his hand slowly over his leg, up past his waist, carefully drawing the Beretta held there. "Who goes there?" he called out to the night.
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It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us the freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us the freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who gives us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protestor to burn the flag. - Father Dennis Edward O'Brien, USMC
While the two by the fire focused their attention on the man with the field manual, another dark figure in the woods was watching them closely. He wasn't someone who needed a manual to guide him through the unknown. This was a figure who made his way between the known and the unknown. This was someone who made the darkness pray for the light.
Can I just say: Look at my avatar and its bad self!! Thankies Swordsie!
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"Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. It is the spirit of men who follow and of the man who leads that gains the victory." - George S. Patton
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It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us the freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us the freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who gives us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protestor to burn the flag. - Father Dennis Edward O'Brien, USMC
Moon entered the small, sandy fighting arena near the rear of the stables, sword in hand and ready for the day's lesson.
To her surprise, she found the Swordsman sitting for once. He was perched on the bench at the side of the arena, leaning back with his shoulders against the wall.
"Alright, Nękos, get your butt up and let's fight," Moon challenged him. "I actually practiced this week!"
"Show me."
"What?"
"Your drills. Show me them, and prove you've practiced."
She glared at him. "I finally show up on time and want to fight, and you tell me to do drills?" He only nodded. "You're trying to make me mad on purpose, aren't you?"
"I am telling you to do your drills, and I am still your instructor."
"You don't want me to embarass you." She crossed her arms, eyebrow raised, a half-smirk on her face.
"I am not fighting you today, Moon. You are doing your drills, and then you will be practicing."
The arms came uncrossed as she walked fast over to his side of the arena, a finger pointing ahead of her. "You are doing anything you can to piss me off, just like every time! And the worst part is, you're good at it! You yell at me when I'm late, you yell at me for not practicing, you humiliate me in our fights. So when I finally do practice and show up on time, you refuse to fight me and let me redeem myself any! You just keep finding ways to make me mad! Do you just get some kind of strange pleasure from that, and that's the only reason you - oh my."
She came suddenly to a halt as he took hold of the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up, revealing a deep red line that ran diagonally across his chest from pectoral to hip, and now criss-crossed with over a hundred rough stitches. "Begin your drills," he said quietly as he lowered the shirt again.
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It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us the freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us the freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who gives us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protestor to burn the flag. - Father Dennis Edward O'Brien, USMC
"No, wait..." Moon stuttered, taken aback. "Did I-? I mean, what happened?" The young princess, completely sheltered previously from any kind of battle or hurt, stood there with her mouth hanging open, unable to fathom what had happened & hoped against hope that she didn't cause such a wound. She didn't remember doing anything, but...her mind had been on other things lately.
__________________ "Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind."
Standing on the edge of the arena there was a shadowy figure. sword strapped across his back. he watched as this woman trained with this man.
He watched, mentally noting all the moves they went thru, and thought, "...she still has alot to learn." Though he watched the fluid movement that the instructor moved with. appraised the weapons that he wore, turned and disapeared into the shadows like he never exsisted. only leaving a small stone, a tiger's eye, as a marker of his passing.
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