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Beneath That Hot Sun

That day, when the sun was burning, and the trucks were humming, and the soldiers were joking and patting each other on the backs and giving high fives, that day Rob said, “D*mn, it's hot,” and wiped the back of his sleeve on his forehead, and pulled his shades down over his eyes. And squinting under the glare of the sun, he noticed a cloud of sand moving, living, breathing, growing into a storm.

And he knew there were enemies behind that cloud, coming for them, urging it on and chasing the sand into action.

And Rob felt that same surge of fear, fear mixed with adrenaline, and yelled to his fellow soldiers, his friends, and they all grabbed their guns and braced themselves for the cloud to draw nearer.

And they all smiled. No tricks today; someone was approaching fast. Someone stupid, or maybe someone strong. But still someone they could beat- Rob's friends had the big guns.

And as the sun beat down and Rob wiped the sweat from his brow and the soldiers squinted into the cloud, they began to notice that it was many someones. Not someone stupid, not someone strong, but a whole band of enemies, hordes of someones coming into sharp relief.

And Rob's friends aimed their guns and the enemy aimed theirs, and as the sun shone all that could be heard in that desert was the sound of gunfire and explosions.

And as the enemy left, Rob and his friends died under that hot sun, and Rob wiped his brow one last time and wondered, really, what had they died for?

And it didn't seem right that the sun decided to shine that day. The sky should have cried, should have tried to wash away all the grief and sins from the bodies lying in that desert.





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