February, 2015


I was a soldier, posted to a small hill, overlooking a harbour. My duty was to man the singular weapon which overlooked that harbour. It was summer, and the people around me couldn't care less about defending that particular ground. I knew that I had destroyed an enemy armored vehicle, I knew this, but I had not done it. The outpost itself was butted right against and up to a small interior-design office, owned by a lady who did not frequent the place, but let the general public use the space. I was wearing a stifling uniform, and the invasion from the public was just as unwanted as the invasion from afar.


Far down the hill, I tried to recruit those who looked able to help me, warning them of the impending invasion. They did not care to know, and did not want to hold the hill.

Phil James