ConscriptionThere was a boy on a fence.Conscription by LuxLoupeLune
His body was hunched over, the dawn casting shadows over him and the bag at his feet, stretching on. His legs tangled with the wood in a familiar pose. His fingers gripped his worn support. His face, scored and creased with indecision, his eyes, hollow and squinting, as if seeing past the miles of land that lay in shadows. In truth he didn't want to see it at all. The knowledge that his home was behind him did nothing to ease his troubles.
So he sat on the fence on the edge.
That’s where he was, not brave enough to run, not brave enough to stay. Just scared enough to watch, at dawn’s edge.
So he watched and stared and scrutinised every fence line, half looking, half remembering the familiar maze of pipeline that fed the crops, that fed the animals, that fed him. He watched the wide field and the ranks of corn, rigid, tall, proud-
Soldiers staring down, eyes cold and condescending, lips set into tight lines. Judging. They surround him.