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This diary entry is written by elsa_bug. ( View all entries )

Toy Soliders/We All Fall Down.Category: (general)
Tuesday, 7 October 2008
02:09:31 PM (GMT)
This is just a silly story written for my English coursework, and so far, it
isn't even completed. I just thought I'd post it here, and if you've got any feedback
then that'd be great, if not, it makes me happy to know that maybe somebody,
somewhere's reading my work. A little less lonely. Not that I'm particuarly lonely,

Still. Toy Soliders is the title. But I also like the title We All Fall Down. Got a
preference? Tell me, please (:

"In war, there are no unwounded soldiers. All become broken and tarnished and

My eyes are blue. Now, I'm sure, they're darker than the Scottish Highlands on a
distressed day. I say nothing, my lips glued together with a bitterness that I refuse
to try and describe, and my fingers are pressed into a fist; tight and angry. The
fractured solider is gone, I think, having left once the words were out and that
pressing ache in his chest began to prove to much (for I felt it too, hard and heavy
on my ribs), but I can't move. I can't even breathe.

I feel trapped, suddenly. My place of refuge takes on the form of a prison, locking
me inside and refusing me the gulps of fresh air that I so desperately require, but
nothing real is stopping me from pulling myself into a stand and leaving. Nothing
physical, anyway. I feel as if the four wooden walls that surround me are closing in,
each edging closer and closer to my trembling form, leaving me pondering my own
sanity; fading sanity, quite possibly.  The floor feels hot underneath my feet, like
it's burning through my shoes and blackening my skin, but my face lacks any kind of
warmth. The only thing that my face burns with is the jagged cold that cuts at me
from above and around, from inside and out, consuming me at an astonishing rate.
Remembrance plagues the mind of a man who had once thought himself completely devoid
of memory.   


I didn't know what to say. The man who stood before me, as tall and imposing as I
suppose you'd expect a general to be, was stifling back the cries in his throat and
battling the inner demon who was forcing his tears to the surface; chest was heaving,
shoulders were hunched and face was taught with anger. Anguish. It was suddenly as if
all words had been drained from my world.

Silence was the only that that appeared to reign true around us; nothing else was
quite as it seemed. The men who had on first glance been a just a few darkened shapes
in the corner, sleeping and still, on second look became a huddled group of
dishevelled children lost in a distinctly adult world. The clock that hung crookedly
on the wall, way over to my left, had once been a way of counting down the ticking
time, hours, minutes and seconds; hope for the little boys lost, but the moment I
looked twice I saw nothing more than a dirty white box, numbers almost too faded to
see and a broken hand. For these boys, it would forever be twenty minutes to twelve.

A heavy sigh was exiled from my lips as I finally gathered the courage needed to
interrupt the angry quiet that surrounded us, my head turning and my stiffened limbs
slowly whirring into action. Had exhaustion not been so apparent in my mind, I may
have forced a nervous smile onto my lips as I nodded my thanks at the broken General,
but as it was I merely raised a hand, jolted my head and made my way past him. I
climbed onto a bed, spare only through the death of its last inhabitant I was sure,
and pressed my weary head into the softness of the pillow. Within moments, I had been

It's not finished, remember. This is just a snippet of the final piece.

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