When I was young I played the game of war with a troop of soldiers. As the bayonets opposed I took a second to decide that right was best simply for no other reason than that they wore green. And blessed by my hand they began advancing towards the rifles spitting of bullets beige and their fate. And as the cries and death knells keened the man to my left, shot between the eyes, fell upon a rock, and on my right, before I could look, my comrade bled through his heart. But I was in no danger - no, not I, I who saw from above! For it was I who flicked the pawns, I who heard the laughs of war, I who sent them to the fore. Like a suit behind a desk I profited from their game, caring not what the carpet beneath my feet became. Mine fought for an unknown goal, issued from Above, only assured some heroes would be maimed. One private’s legs melted off under a lighter’s bit of flame but colonel lost his mind - a bad guy’s blade sheered through his throat or my dog gnawed off his head. I can’t remember which stole him to sullen fate. There his bloody torso lies until the last enemy falls. Few green are left standing as I emerge into a lusty atmosphere. This ground I created is strange to me. But together we walk across the blood-stained grass towards our fallen comrades. That those they shot are indistinguishable, that I’d be blind were in not for green and beige they cannot know. For they return to a hero’s welcome only consisting of me. And they return to a ceremonious welcome before that slide into anonymity. The green ones receive a hero’s dump into a bucket and the beige ones receive the same. Divided once in battle, their mangled bodies lie side by side and I, amused, return to the wealth of my world.
We’ll do it again next week.
(I see a skyscraper. On every floor people live and breathe and go about their work. Every so often a window opens, providing a glimpse of these workings to those who see from the outside. But now we can see who constitutes each level, from the tycoon in the office at the peak to the working men and women at the bottom, perhaps even those lower or on the outside. Where does the power truly lie in a society that preaches one ideology but practices another?)
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Brett-
ReplyDeleteI am interested in where you plan to go with this story. Perhaps you could preface what you plan on accomplishing with this story. From what I gathered from the excerpt of the story you posted was that you were attempting to play with the absurdity of war.
"The green ones receive a hero’s dump into a bucket and the beige ones receive the same. Divided once in battle, their mangled bodies lie side by side"
I think this story has a lot of promise. Some ideas about power-relationships you might want to think about are: a.) Solider- Government b.) Solider- Citizens c.) Soldier-self.
There are a lot of power struggles that are inherent within any institution. (esp. when that institution is the military)
Keep thinking about what the power-struggle is that you want to play with. I think once you clarify that aspect of your story, everything else will flow more easily.
Brett- I found this portion, although vivid and gruesome at points, to be beautifully written. I was extremely impressed with your poetry-like way or writing. The prose seemed to have a steady and quick rhythm with portions that rhymed, and as I said the vivid imagery was shocking and well-painted. Seeing what Tim said, I do agree with the idea of establishing what you hope to accomplish with the story. I also was curious, as a reader, what war you were talking about. Does it matter? Is this story meant to be a current commentary on military or is it a metaphor for some other kind of social battle or struggle? I was also curious if you plan on doing a compilation of short stories or if this was part of a larger novel.
ReplyDeleteI am definitely excited to continue reading your posts and to see your final work. I think your writing is exceptional and fresh. The idea of war and military is replete with areas for criticism but there is also a lot to be said for those playing the part of the soldiers. Maybe you could work with point of view shifts as well in which the story not only shows this tone and commentary on the war games, but perhaps one highly in favor of what is happening. These are all merely suggestions, however. Good luck! Looking forward to more
I was intrigued with how you turned a battle scene into a child's game. I am interested in what a war fought by children would be like. I thought about the perspective switching between the children playing and the actual soldiers on the battlefield. I would like to read about how a war, possibly the one we are in now, might be different if our generals were just kids playing with army figures. In this way the reader gets t experience the harshness of the battlefield (possibly with 1st person) and also the comical haphazard idea of war through the eyes of children (possibly in 3rd person). This would also reflect how the society conditions children to think about war and react to it.
ReplyDelete...again, I'm slightly upset to discover my comment fot this post never got through.
ReplyDeleteBasically, I approved of the idea and I'm especially interested in the paralling men to plastic pawns at the hands of warring generals playing children's games with their lives. It's a beautiful image and it evokes a lot of the concepts of helplessnness and power relationships that we've discussed in class. Ending with "we'll do it again next week" adds to the hopelessness of the situation, a nod to the history of conflict and the inevitabilty for power relationships to bring people together in a violent and bloody way in the future.
I know now that you're well on your way into your other story, involving a meshing of squirrels and power issues, but perhaps this can find a way into the project: The juxtaposition of the innocent with the horrifying is just too good to leave in the scrap bin.