The sound...

I would have wrote this earlier but I completely forgot. Imagine what I describe, how would you feel from a sound that brought back memories that you wanted to bury forever...

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1. Imagine...

First, I would like you to imagine something. You have been away from you wife, girlfriend, boyfriend or family for at least a few years. You are patrolling the dust roads in Afghanistan  concrete houses litter your view of the abandoned land that used to breath life. Now all that is there is the blistering sun, the road beneath your feet and these ghost houses. You are practically alone, the three other men by your side do not speak. They seem to not breathe, they miss their life so much.Your mind wanders to your love at home, when you seemed to be happy. When you thought that nothing could tear her/him from you. You are snapped back when you hear the rattle of guns. The air is heavy with firing and the panic from the men around you. You hear the land mines, three in all, erupt. Each signalling that your comrades have fallen, you can't help them any more. You crawl for covering but feel the stabs of the bullets making you not so perfect any more. Like a t-shirt with holes in, like the burst of a bubble in the bath. You black out. You are left to the enemy, deciding whether you live or die. No-one can help you now.

You wake, back somewhere but it is alien. You hear the beeping of a monitor, a hospital. You can't see properly and it is silent. You are told only minutes later that you are back home but are injured to mental disrepair. You start to cry as you a reunited with your relatives, joy over comes you as you see their grief ridden faces through the blinds. You reach out for them but pain washes over you, making you scream and a single tear roll down your face. You are happy but sad at the same time, but glad you are alive.

The idea came to me for this on bonfire night. I feel pain for the men who have fought there and came back, but then they are reminded of that terrible time with only a few sounds. Fireworks. The bang of the big and beautiful ones may seem beautiful to us, but maybe to them it may be like a dagger in the side. I pain when the memory of when, before you blacked out, saw you fellow fall and you felt those bullets pierce you. How you saw the pain in their eyes as they realised they were to die on the battle field.  Let me ask you this single question:

Why should men like this, men who have fought for each other, be paid during a year a fraction of what a footballer is? A footballer plays a game, these men play a deadlier one, one where you may or may not survive. These men who do survive are barely rewarded with thanks were as people who kick a football around get paid what they do per week. I do not know how you feel about this, but I would like to say thank you to all of our men, standing or fallen, who have risked everything for this. I will remember you all on this remembrance Sunday.

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