BOOTLICKER

Plains of Qruv

2008-05-10

Mothers stooped over sons. Sons kneeling by brothers.

Unbridled grief.

Three were taken from every family, dragged, gagged or murdered on the spot. No-one was given any real orders, but they knew this why they were here.

In a front yard, a silver-haired woman wept over the bloodied body of her husband. An arm was extended, her time had come early too. Her fluids watered the lawn a happy red, the soldier left.

Then there was burning. Snaky lines of fear fed possessions and emotions into into the fire. The dead and their proof were carried away into the wind as black misery.

Others had misunderstood the siren. The siren told you to stay. Those who fled were gunned, and for every one that fled, another three were given back to the soil.

The landship.. to be continued.