You will hear of wars and rumors of wars...
A nation inches its tanks closer and closer to the other one, waiting…just waiting…for the first spark, the first punch, the first throw. And then they’ll react. They have too much to lose: God, freedom, pride, country. They have no banners of surrender. They will not surrender. They are lying dormant…waiting….for a smirk that will make them angry.
The world is watching in front of their TV screens. Parents know their sons and daughters are deployed in Iraq…It’s been five or six years now (the calendar’s almost crossed out), with his heart beating in his hand and their hopes for a grandson shattered. War always gives a sour taste in the mouth. And they hate it.
The air smells medieval. Both glance at each other. Inside themselves, they never wanted this to reach to this point. But the cameras, the people, the warriors, the trolls, their own wills push them to do this against their own will. Those pancartas seem helpless. They are helpless.
A shot is fired, and someone falls into the muddy ground.