(no subject)
A Killer's Training
by Eric Stalker
The land is a dark, fire blackened and foreboding place with rocks as sharp as glass and wind so cold it chills the souls of the men who came to harden their hearts for the dark tasks they face ahead. This place is not war for no shot nor loudest boom is ever followed by the shouts and muffled screams of the dead or dying. This place has no fear, no humanity consuming emptiness which blankets the land. No, this is not war but outside of hell's playground this barren place is as close to it that we will come before we go into the breach. It, in its own way, consumes us, the ones who have come to prepare to be consumed. It pushes us to our limits as if punishing us for how our rounds punish it. This is not a home for us, though we have lived here. Nor is it a comforting place, though we have grown used to its barren waste. No, this is a place that destroys our memories of home, that ravages our thoughts of friends and family. This is a place that makes war bareable.
by Eric Stalker
The land is a dark, fire blackened and foreboding place with rocks as sharp as glass and wind so cold it chills the souls of the men who came to harden their hearts for the dark tasks they face ahead. This place is not war for no shot nor loudest boom is ever followed by the shouts and muffled screams of the dead or dying. This place has no fear, no humanity consuming emptiness which blankets the land. No, this is not war but outside of hell's playground this barren place is as close to it that we will come before we go into the breach. It, in its own way, consumes us, the ones who have come to prepare to be consumed. It pushes us to our limits as if punishing us for how our rounds punish it. This is not a home for us, though we have lived here. Nor is it a comforting place, though we have grown used to its barren waste. No, this is a place that destroys our memories of home, that ravages our thoughts of friends and family. This is a place that makes war bareable.