Casualties of War

Every day they are there.

Shuffling, meandering and struggling, they move from place to place. Grimaces adorn their passive faces, defeat rests calmly between their shoulder blades.They have lost their battle, they wait for the end of the war.

Clad in ill-fitting or filthy cloth, they have become as invisible as the cracks in the sidewalk. Just like those cracks, whose amazing control over the spines of mother's is spoken about in whispers, they are avoided. Legion is their name, and like the damned hell spawn who share that moniker fear and loathing typically follow in their footsteps

These once mighty beings have been felled, and many cannot imagine them in any other state. Never to become more, doomed to eventually be less they are the scraps clinging desperately to the bottom of the barrel in fear of the unknown beyond the current confines of their lives.

This is a war. Make no mistake that the battle rages constantly upon boulevards and courts, drives and lanes. Beneath glowing streetlights and hidden in dank alleys, battles miniature in size but not ferocity are fought daily.

We only see the casualties














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