Powder Monkey

The air is thick with a sweet metallic scent. Smoky fumes and gunpowder redden the whites of my eyes. A soldier lies in the dirt before me. Broken bones bore through his bruised flesh. An image I've seen countless times before. My teeth grind together like a mortar and pestle tearing holes in my bottom lip. My calloused hands form fists at my sides as my uniform which once stood for nationalism now stinks of dishonor. Day after day I watch as I aid in destruction and devastation. When called I run to pour powder in the cannons. My boots make a sickening squelch in the mud. The sound reminds me once again why and where I am. Once the fuse is lit a ball of fire zips through the air and another life is lost. Why does earning my country’s pride cost another’s mournful dishonor? Whose child lies disrespected and discarded?