Still They March

They were prisoners.

There was no denying it now. With their hands clasped on the back of their heads, they were paraded down the lonely country road. The soles of their shoes were wearing thin and the souls of their bodies were weakening. Even though the sun had long since begun to set, the temperatures were still sweltering. Their clothes were damp and sticky with sweat, yet the air around them was arid and dusty. Their tongues were dried out and sticking to the roofs of their parched mouths.

But still they marched.

The only other people, besides the prisoners themselves, were the soldiers.

The very men and women who had captured them, ripped them from their homes, from their lives. They sat along the roadside in their shady trucks, watching as the captives continued their excursion to only God knows where. They sipped from water bottles and joked with each other. Their laughter fell flat in the prisoner's ears, whose own thirst was nothing about which to laugh.

And still they marched.

One man stumbled.

His shoe had fallen apart, both of them no longer feeling it necessary to hold together. The soldiers cackled as the man stayed crumpled on the trodden road, his legs tucked tightly to his chest. One of the soldiers hurled the man up by his shirt collar, dragging him away to be dealt with like a horse with a broken leg.

Yet still they marched.

When they would stop, when they would rest, none of them knew.

They were only cattle. Therefore, they would be herded as such. Would it be better, they wondered, if they just gave up like the other man had? Would it better if they just lie down in the dirt and die now, rather than reach a final destination? Or were they to just walk on forever, until each and every one of them dropped dead from exhaustion? There was no telling. Each man, lost in the same thought, pondered the possibilities. They each waited for another man to fall, defeated. To be the first, to be the one for them all to follow. Each waited for another man to lead them.

So still they march.