by: Aidan Waits, 16 years old
I may look like you. I may look like your brother, step-father or best friend.
I may look like the writhing waters of Lake Michigan, or the boiling clouds above coming war.
I may look like a serene shoreline, empty of any sentience that matters.
I may look like the movie you cried to in your youth.
Or maybe, I just look like me.
I may feel like that point in a song, when the cymbals crash and the horns roar.
I may feel like the head-banging chorus, which your neighbors protest against with violent fervor.
I may feel like the wind that whips on the trees, and takes your breath away.
I may even feel like sunlight on a Monday, yes even that.
Or maybe, I cannot be described by feeling alone.
I know how I sound, I sound like thunder, thunder rolling above the Himalayas.
I sound like fire, crackling along a long dried branch.
I sound like fear, ripped from the throat of a last stand.
Fear, or maybe defiance against death, against going without a fight.
These things are similar after all.
I have no color, or taste, or touch.
I simply am, as I was discovered of old.
I am from the age of Empires, from Caesar’s conquests and Hannibal’s raids.
I am from the Greatest Generation, those that fought in trenches fighting for their brothers across the great ocean.
I am from the Dark Ages, and the religious crusades of madness.
I am from the era of strange, dark jungles, and when hellfire rained upon the earth.
I have witnessed these happenings and more.
My fate is to not just witness, but fuel these acts of human hatred and love.
My fate is to aid the human race in its multifaceted quest for honor.
They can never truly understand me, my purpose.
They can never understand the single soldier standing against a thousand enemies
They can never hear my call, the understanding is lost.
They see that single soldier upon the hill,
They call to him, begging him to come down and save himself.
They call him mad.
Now you tell me, is he?