This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
From a distance, death seems the end of a story. But when you are near, when you can smell the burning skin, see the entrails, you see death for what it is. A traumatic cauterization of a life thread. No purpose. No conclusion. Just snip.
I knew war was dreadful, but I did not expect to fear it.
How can anyone not, when death is just a blind giant with scissors?
This will not end well
“What does Mars mean to you, Nakamura?” I ask.
The Terran hesitates. “Hope. And you, my liege?”