Background: I wrote this for Power of the Pen earlier in October. The Colonel is a character from whose point of view I like to write. He's been stationed in Nanjing the year after the Massacre begins. Name: SaltedWounds (a.k.a. Para Dise) Setting: Nanjing, 1938 Genre: Journal *** -March 1, 1938- I was on the streets. Every street, every way drawn through the city was a crack through the gates of hell. Smoke from the burning buildings smoldered away the last traces of morale and morality. With each step I took, signs of military victory and moral defeat burned in my eyes. Someone cried in the distance. Perhaps I had no reason to stare in horrendous awe as I walked through the streets. After all, I awoke to fading screams of agony and fell asleep to soldiers' laughing. The massacre should stir nothing in me. Yet the corpses--once living people who loved and hoped--were tumbled over the pavement, whole and dismembered. Fruit from the hands of the army I served. Mirrors of inhumanity. Wordless condemnation. A clap of thunder broke the silent mourning, drawing my attention to the gray clouds that had been rolling over the heavens. A drop fell, and then another. Tiny pieces of wetness splashed the ground. Then the water-laden sky let loose curtains of rain. I stood stark still, tilting my head upward to let the downpour dress my cheeks with tears I could not allow myself to cry. Rain seeped through my stiff tan uniform, chilling my already half-numbed body. The fires seemed to quiet submissively. The storm washed the shine away from my colonel's stars, transformed my uniform into an undignified clump, and drenched me. My lips caught some drops, fresh and sweet. Finally, my own tears trickled out to meet the deluge. *** Please give any comments, compliments, and criticism. Thanks for reading!!
Well done. It caught my attention, held it, and created a complete image in my mind. I look forward to seeing your future endeavours.
