Hello... This is not going to be the easiest thing to grasp, nor the most intelligent of conversation. First off, this will not be the most original of beginnings, however it is the truth of the events, and shall remain so. This will be the same book you have always read, and it will be the same story that is written in your own life, as it is written in your own conversations, the tale of fighting, and the epic of journey, the serenade of justice, and the chorus of love. Not love of a person but love for people. Not fighting for your life, but fighting for everyone else's lives. There are no heroes, just people.
There are no villains, just visionaries. So I ask of you, to listen to what you have always heard, and to pay attention, for you probably already endured all that is said here. It may not be apparent at first. But before you see the finish of these words, paragraphs, and pages, and before the last period is in place, you will not be reading about these people, but instead, about yourself.
But before any of this will happen you will think you are reading about me. My poem is the same as yours, just in a new light, this light is the difference between you and me, the reason you are the one reading, and I am the one creating. My light consists of very few differences between me and the average John Doe. For one... before the end of this, I will be dead, and even before my life I was not very far from it. For instance: I spent the majority of my time blind, save for a few specks of light now and then, and half deaf, upon this I was also bound to a wheelchair.
It was not all bad, I had Tim, he was my leg, and he was my eyes, my ears, and my voice. Tim was the way I could lash out at the ones who did it to me. Tim was my best friend, and at the same time I almost resented him. It is hard to not hate those who can do what you can't, he would describe things to me, in many ways it was childish, I hated someone because they have working eyes. I think it was because I can vaguely remember sight, I remember color; I remember what my mother looked like. Every time I tried to imagine what something looks like I would see my mother, Tim described things to me, so he reminded me of her, for this I hated him, but I also loved him. He was my brother and my father, I owed him so much.
I suppose the easiest place to start is five years after the war ended, nine years since it started. It was July the fourth; it used to be a holiday in what was once called the United States. We were in a place that was called ‘Island Twelve', Tim called it Japan. In the city of Okinawa, there was a military base, exploring the use of combat exoskeletons. This place was where we chose to strike first.
We didn't think it would make an impact, nor did we think we would live to see the next sunrise. I guess we had an angel looking after us... Heh, if you knew the entire story you would think that remark ironic.
As previously stated it was the night of the fourth, Tim told me they used to celebrate the holiday with gunpowder in canisters that would light up the night sky in a collaboration of purples and golds and greens and hues of every color you can imagine. But since the war, gun powder had only been used for one thing: Death.
So in tradition of both the Fourth of July and the death of the war; gunpowder was to be used again. The powder was mixed with composites of other chemicals, to make them more explosive, I wasn't involved with the making of the bombs, but Tim had experience making explosive.
Tim was an ex in the United States military, he was something called a Marine in his time. Tim told me marines were the same as the Security Control Recruits Enlisted in War, SCREW.
Tim drove me up to the base. He wheeled me around during one of the day time tours. The guide didn't talk about the exoskeletons or the death the country brought, she only spoke of "The common good of all the lands people." I felt angry hearing her speak about "How the Greater Cause Union has helped bring mankind to a new era of wellbeing" a vague expression of false happiness meant only to mask the destruction it has caused. I was a shining testament to the true reality of it. The GCU had only forced the image of a better tomorrow down our throat. With the right hand they held up a symbol of prosperity, and in the left they carried a rifle.
When the tour was over Tim told me he would let me set it off. Nothing in the world could have made me happier. I was to be personally responsible for a punch to GCU's army. For the first time in weeks I smiled. I decided time would pass faster if I slept, so I crawled into the back of the car and fell asleep, only to wake when the time was right.
