Most are dead. The fire ate the village. Ate it like a maw of giant dragon teeth in orange. The fire's flickering hard and fast like hands from Hell reaching forth to scavenge on confused souls misunderstanding the reason why.
Forever to wander upon these grounds searching for that answer.
But there isn't one.
It was an accident.
A happenstance that from MY two fingers should flick thoughtlessly THAT cigarette past THAT straw hut on the driest day ever, only to have the wind birth a flame as it pushed it into the side of the sticks and straw.
The web was strumed thereafter.
It wasn't sapposed to happen...or was it?? A week of no fighting. We were allowed free passage, fed, sheltered, sexed, and bestowed with kindness.
All in exchange for simple peace.
But my FUCKING habit and MY fate is killing everyone around me... all for naught.
The smoke was thick and black and their wasnt enough water, not close enouph, not fast enough, to put out the inferno in time so not to attract attention. We scrambled to evacuate and gather what was left of our supplies not burning, but the villager's would not budge.
They had no where else to go. Confusion was rampant. God we tried, but straw is straw and on this of all days, my birthday, it has swollowed almost everyone up.
Those fucks came fast in their mish-mash camo and it became a feast of bullets.
Harboring the traitor they became traitors themselves and our hosts kindred showed no mercy, even for the kids. To save ammunition they made mostly head shots, women and children execution style while the men they took as P.O.W's.
So with the saved amo they obliterated the enemy..us. There was a river of them....
And as I grabbed a woman from a blaze by her hair, dodging flailing arms, who's standing over her husband in a pool of his own blood draining from his chest, I ask God where's my headshot? Why didn't the burning shack fall on us instead of when we were inches into safety? Where was my headshot when I was begging for one as I dragged my half dead buddy past a teenager on the ground gurggling on his blood, reaching out for help? Or was the plea for help an accusation and a pointing finger?
What felt like forever of insanity took only minutes in reality until we scattered within the jungle's perimeter. Even now we try for our lives to sneak through this shithole to fight for people who won't even save themselves.
My buddy has gone limp and I let him go. I can't help but envy him. In a sick way I want to be him. No due can be paid but for with my own life. My concious is tainted and taunted forever with this knowledge becasue...
It was my cig....
My fingers flicked it....
But the wind grabbed it.....
And I let them slip away like water through clenched fists.