Live for this.

My own personal survival mantra, the running narration inside my head, and a celebration of combat addiction.

Every bead of sweat…

My legs are jelly as I rush up the steps, my squad behind me, and seek out the rapid fire pops coming from the roof. We started last night, crashing down walls with armored fighting vehicles and clearing house after endless house. Sprinting down the ramps, across the open spaces, up the stairs, and across the rooftops.

Every drop of blood…

A close range exchange of jacketed rifle rounds while on the move. A trade of bullets between combatants. One of us falls, all of them fall, and gushing blood spurts across the roof. The crimson pools reflect the sunlight burning above us as the dying evacuate their waste.

Every bitter tear…

Burnt powder and smoking debris sting the eyes, giving me an excuse for my watery vision. Unmanly, to want to weep after a killing or the loss of a brother, but the tears come just the same.

I Live for this.