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Anthony Clayton 2013 11 Gwyn Descriptive Writing
The AS90 self-propelled artillery missile tore through the air. The lifeless desert beneath its path
suffers : plundered by primitive pirates. At the outer crusts of view trees far from lush forage for the
remnant ammo supplies, that is water, to keep them alive. As so do the hero's nearer to our reach.
By now , the AS90 has exploded and shattered what was an upstanding building of a sort , most
things here are deformed . Several trenches streamlining the distant heart of our view- leading the
way to Hell. Beaten down by those trampling upon them....beaten down by those who had built
them. The whole body is bleak beyond belief, scorched by not only by the unrelenting glimmers of
sunlight : but by the warheads used to wage war upon it. Breath is a privilege and toil routine
The desert is chapped and cracked and the resulting gaps run like veins escaping the drought which
has drained it of all life. The mountain oversee and intrude upon daily life ; even for the most free-
the military. It eyes watch upon the fighters and judge them as in court, waiting and wanting them off
their territory so that there status be withheld as the last realms of true life in the sight. This is a
peaceful part during this conflict. Barbary Macaques caw in the cages their kept (meat is so scarce
that were to eat the most threatened delicacies). And walk over 10 miles if we must as far as we can.
Water was at one point almost an abundance now it is corrupted and engulfed by gauche marsh in
which we are forced to wade. And the AS90 is back again reverberating in our lungs as it is close to
heart , we keep on going it is second nature , although still it causes many of us involuntary spasms as
we might all be flying through the air as like a hero , but a martyr overall.
A single , simple and sinful sky above spreads her trepidation like the wings of our superheroes , as
most of us cannot presume the weather , the time or the intensity. At this moment though it is
sympathetic and pardons us for our efforts. Were saved. We are 20 miles from the nearest major
town , but , we still here the Call to Prayer , mystically echoes amidst the distant massif of mountain
ahead. It vibrates onto our chest and keeps us going, it replenishes our mind and produces a taste of
previously unfamiliar gratification around the brim of our mouth. I smell hope , but , it is petite.
Meanwhile, AS90 rests in its place. It sports no emotion. It was made to annihilate. A THUD-THUD
sound without hesitation followed by brick bellowing onto themselves as a poor, vulnerable and
homeless refuge of a sort is beaten to the ground. The grounds arteries remain clogged like this ,
letting no one inferior into our side and making sure we don't , but , we can only hold for so long.
Resistance is futile.
But, we still keep on going. We dread as we watch the AS90 thinking how much more frequently
wed clench the trigger of the killing machine if we operated at the heart of this war; where it really
is. We look up and pray for no more suffering , we look down to see a the veins we block in
everystep as we travel back to our hideouts , where we eat like brutes abusing what we devour.
THUD..THUD..THUD , this conflict is a heart , THUD..THUD it is on-going and relentless like the desert :
it fears not us , but the onslaught of the mountain spring which will come down extinguish the flames
of havoc and destruction and bring life to the deserts as they once had..........