J. Lynne Moore
My dreams used to be monochromatic. Unrecognizable. Grey. Now, I rarely dream but when I do, I dream in blood.
Last night, I had one of those dreams where I was watching myself: a bird’s-eye view of me tracking various animals in my tattered mud-brown uniform. I watched helplessly as a carnivorous beast stalked near me with its jaw hanging open and just as I turned to shoot, it swallowed me whole, gun still in hand.
Although that was horrific, it was a cakewalk compared to the usual dream of my men, or what was left of them, scattered along the forest floor like fallen trees. Limbs, organs, parts.
But that is more of a retelling.
***
When I was still part of my unit, when I felt human, I was the ammo man. I brought up the rear and carried all the excess ammo for soldie
