A Long Time Ago, In A Galaxy Far, Far Away...

@jedijune // Compassion

Turns out you can roll a 7 on a d6

This is followed by a series of replies and tags which read as follows…

#i hug them straight on so my boobs can establish dominance

#i prefer head on like a car crash. make the boobies kiss

we could be doing this with balls, no homo even

#i’m usually taller so I press mine above and get a tiddie shelf

My wife calls it “Titris”

it’s called titrus thanks

Living weapons, one marching behind the other as if fresh off the assembly line. Weaponized and dangerous from head to ankles these soldiers had only boots left for marching. Just out of frame was their target, some mysterious thing that needed this violence. It was a grand mural in its own room of a collector's private estate. A love letter hidden away, to the tranformation of souls into conquest.

I don't think lesser of myself to say I was haunted by the piece. The verdant land and blue skies behind them told me this place was real. That it could be visited, saved, maybe understood by those crushed under what the artist meant to say.

Were I there I might know where the weapons came from. To glance behind the frame would tell me what necessitates such violence. I had to know.

So I went.

Among it all, the war seemed to be over. Indolence reigned. Empty hills held weapons still firing with no operators. The constant barking of war dogs left in their chains found me before I found the soldiers.

In the foxhole I saw in that work, amid them they were different. Too tired to keep fighting, ousted from all but their final stand they were wasting away in exclusion. These three-dimensional, pure warriors were different from their mural. Blank eyes and expressionless faces, all hiding an understanding that it's over.

One of them seemed ill with flesh running pink from a cruel sun above us. "What do you call this place?" I asked them.

Its whole body swiveled to speak, to me...