Buried deep

Chapter 2

This is the first chance I have gotten to write today, we came under attack and had to fight for our lives. Of late, they have begun attacking more and more, their numbers far more than in the past. The bloody Russians are supplying them with weapons and training. All we can do is keep killing them as they come. I do not hate them but what do you do, when your own government gives you a gun and throws you on the border? It is kill or be killed.

I am sorry to say we are getting quite good at killing, way to good. You can see it in many mens eyes...they are here, but their minds are gone. They seem to be waiting for that bullet to send them to hell. Sometimes I think that the here and now is actually hell and that when we are dead we are released from our suffering to surf amongst the stars. At peace, forever...

Well enough of that, I should pen what I can, before they start serving meals, quite hungry actually.

That night back at school, in the dark of night, we set about our task at hand. We had already finished a bottle of Old Brown Sherry, to warm our insides and also to give us dutch courage. We dared not smoke lest someone see our embers burning and come investigate. I took the spray cans from the bag and began shaking them.

We all froze, bloody hell, it sure made a lot of noise in the dead of night. We stood awhile listening, the silence was broken by the occasional hoot of a owl or crickets in the bushes. With a bit less vigour I shook the cans and dealt them out.

Roger and Slash set about spraypainting the slogans on the one wall, while I prepared for my masterpiece, three cans, black, white and red. I approached the wall and before I could start to spraypaint, I noticed I was shaking a bit. Hell, it was not the cold, nor was I scared...I was over exited! I would be creating a work of art to be admired by my fellow students and if done right, future generations! Reality has a certain way of kicking you in the balls, we could not initial or tell anyone about our deeds.

I got to work with vigour and soon lost myself in the excitement. What started as a simple spray job, turned into a two hour work of art. Both Roger and Slash had finished ages ago and stood watching me. They bumped the last bottle of sherry between each other. I was to busy to be bothered to drink.

I stepped back and stood next to the guys. Slash put his arm around my shoulders and shook his head in awe. Roger just shook his head in disbelief. I had outdone myself. I had sprayed a life size Death, one hand pointing at you, giving you the finger. The other hand he held up as if he had just taken a bite from an apple, but instead of an apple a bloody heart was in his hand, still dripping blood. His lower jaw was slightly open as if chewing while his teeth were covered in blood. His eyes had red flames burning in the sockets, his scythe was leaning against his shoulder. It was beautiful.

"You do know, they are going to know it was you, hey?" Roger burst my bubble, brought me none to gently back to reality. He was right though, I had made it glaringly obvious it was me. I had scores of confiscated art works in teachers possession. They got me branded a satanist, even my written works were getting me into trouble in that regard. No matter what I said, or the fact I was Catholic, convinced them I was not. I think they think all Catholics are satanists.

I had truly gone overboard, it was meant to be rough, not perfect...I did perfect. Slash stood chuckling at my shoulder. There was no second chances, what was on the wall, was there to stay. My heart sank, as brave as I was, there were two others to consider, they would be implicated by my obtuse eagernes. I looked at both of them, before reaching my decision.

"Listen up you two bums, I will take the fall for this alone." I felt grand making that statement, it felt good.

Slash guffawed at me, Roger grabbed him, shoving his hand in front of his mouth to muffle his laughter. I could not help smiling at the two of them tumbling around.