What is democracy? What is democracy? It got something to do with young men killing each other
------
War was not like hunting. There was no thrill of facing down something with fangs and claws. There was no surge of pride when you bag something three times your size and mount its head on your wall.
In the jungles of Vietnam you faced men who looked like you. Men who had homes and families and people who mourn them now that their corpse floats down the river. Here, there were no trophies to bring home with you. No prizes to proudly display in your foyer as a testament to your manhood. Instead, the images of their lifeless faces were burned into your eyelids. You did your best not to sleep.
You thought you had left all traces of humanity somewhere in the battlefield where your brothers in arms left limbs and lives. It scared you, feeling this empty. So you went looking for something to make you feel alive again.
You found it down an alleyway in a tiny village in Vietnam. He was beautiful, Soft skin, taut muscles, smoking . He reminded you of yourself before the war, before you were father to a boy you’d never met, before you’d even met Janey. It made your breath catch.
“You looking for a good time?” he’d asked when he caught you staring. The words came out oiled and practiced, something heard by hundreds of American soldiers.
You opened your mouth to apologize, explain that you’re a happily married man, and be on your way. Instead you laughed.
“If I was, I wouldn’t be here fighting a war.”
He smiled at you then, wry and without humor. He was so young, not a day over sixteen, and that alone should have sent you back to camp. But when he told you he could make your troubles go away, for the right price, you followed him into his home.
_____
“Have you ever killed a man?” you asked, pulling on your trousers. The boy, for that’s what he was, just a boy, looked at you. “They tell you the first time is the hardest, and it just gets easier after that. It doesn’t though, it just gets worse. Every time I kill someone a little part of me dies. Do you know what I mean?”
He just stared at you, bright eyes shocking against his dark skin and hair. His English was limited to solicitations and you knew no Vietnamese. You hoped he understood.
You kissed him once more before you left, to make your troubles go away.
----- It was not Jane’s face that flashed before your eyes when you lay bleeding on the battlefield. Instead, you saw a boy with bright eyes and a humorless smile. In that moment, he made your troubles go away. -----
Hold my breath as I wish for death Oh, please God, wake me
FILL: TEAM JADE<3KARKAT
What is democracy? What is democracy?
It got something to do with young men killing each other
------
War was not like hunting. There was no thrill of facing down something with fangs and claws. There was no surge of pride when you bag something three times your size and mount its head on your wall.
In the jungles of Vietnam you faced men who looked like you. Men who had homes and families and people who mourn them now that their corpse floats down the river. Here, there were no trophies to bring home with you. No prizes to proudly display in your foyer as a testament to your manhood. Instead, the images of their lifeless faces were burned into your eyelids. You did your best not to sleep.
You thought you had left all traces of humanity somewhere in the battlefield where your brothers in arms left limbs and lives. It scared you, feeling this empty. So you went looking for something to make you feel alive again.
You found it down an alleyway in a tiny village in Vietnam. He was beautiful, Soft skin, taut muscles, smoking . He reminded you of yourself before the war, before you were father to a boy you’d never met, before you’d even met Janey. It made your breath catch.
“You looking for a good time?” he’d asked when he caught you staring. The words came out oiled and practiced, something heard by hundreds of American soldiers.
You opened your mouth to apologize, explain that you’re a happily married man, and be on your way. Instead you laughed.
“If I was, I wouldn’t be here fighting a war.”
He smiled at you then, wry and without humor. He was so young, not a day over sixteen, and that alone should have sent you back to camp. But when he told you he could make your troubles go away, for the right price, you followed him into his home.
_____
“Have you ever killed a man?” you asked, pulling on your trousers. The boy, for that’s what he was, just a boy, looked at you. “They tell you the first time is the hardest, and it just gets easier after that. It doesn’t though, it just gets worse. Every time I kill someone a little part of me dies. Do you know what I mean?”
He just stared at you, bright eyes shocking against his dark skin and hair. His English was limited to solicitations and you knew no Vietnamese. You hoped he understood.
You kissed him once more before you left, to make your troubles go away.
-----
It was not Jane’s face that flashed before your eyes when you lay bleeding on the battlefield. Instead, you saw a boy with bright eyes and a humorless smile. In that moment, he made your troubles go away.
-----
Hold my breath as I wish for death
Oh, please God, wake me