Interveiw with an anonymous ATHM investor on the front line, somewhere USA. 7/27/00
Smoke in thick billows and small curls rises heavenward. Twisted and shattered trucks and wreckage litter the landscape to the south as far as the eye can see. The now lifeless broken forms of countless shareholders and posters lie strewn before me. The stench is foul and just over the nearest hill blaring sounds and bright flashes fills the air with the reminder that this battle yet rages. I am reading the last pages from a journal found in a smoking foxhole shortly after an errant mortar round permanently dislodged its residents. The words are telling of both the intensity of the hellish fighting and the human toll that this battle has exacted. From the journal…
Gut shot and bleeding I stare in mute disbelief at my wound. Strangely, there is variety of color in my organs but all is blatantly overshadowed by the fluid rivers of crimson as life energy spurts and flows from torn vessels. The pain comes in steady waves now and consciousness itself becomes the paradox of a mixed blessing, being both the gift of life that clings yet and the stark reality of near unendurable agony. In another instant something shifts inside and the pain ebbs. The focus of the outer eye fades and softens being replaced with an inner clarity of calm and surrender to a quiet still peace which seems to whisper without words.
Soon enough perhaps, but not yet…not yet.
It has been a bloody battle with our camps now over run. My silenced comrades lie strewn about me more like torn and tattered Raggedy Ann Dolls then the vibrant cheering human forms they were but a few short posts ago. The barbaric and brutal enemy howls through our land making a mockery of this territory we cleared. I attempted movement but only succeeded in expanding the glut from my entrails upon this now thirsty foreign ground.
The screams of terror, anguish and disbelief all stream together, the din softens and almost seems reassuring. How could we have foreseen this madness? Surly the scent of war and unrest was upon the horizon, but our region was to be immune to the irrationality. I would laugh but less then enough energy exists now for the muscles of my face to move or my lungs to exhale but the barest amount of air.
How could I have been so foolish? Fool indeed is the proper word. To have and to be the greatest gift, life itself and toss it away upon speculative folly. All to secure a future that has yet to arrive at the cost of a past and present forsaken. It will be better next time, perhaps it will be better next time.
Many of our trucks are over turned and burning, worse others are being driven by the looters filled with short shares. Strength to overthrow this mess and withstand until help arrives still lingers but how much longer do we few remaining endure? How many more must fall before the fortress is strong?
I shall remain long as life endures and trust that the time of this insanity will be brief. Yet, within this chaos a still small voice rings out a truth, a house divided can not long stand. Outside, on the loaded truck radios, blare word that Mr. Bell tolls for thee. I hear something...a plane? Perhaps help is................................
Back to you in the studio. |
