The Partisan

…and just this morning the feds came across our border.
I grabbed my rifle and took off for the hills. I cursed as
I ran, with tears in my eyes, for no-one would come
with me. I was all alone.

But now I see, it was all my fault. I laughed and laughed
when the old man named Paul raised his voice to speak.
But the others laughed too. And many screamed and cried
for FREEDOM but nobody heard that too. I never had the
guts to talk to strangers. Born in Virginia, we held our tongues.
I didn’t talk to neighbors and I wrote e-mail only to those
that would understand.

This afternoon there were five of us. We had met along
the way and had decided to travel east and hook up with
friends. We travelled overland; the roads were too dangerous.

We had gotten as far as Cold Harbor. But there were federal
troops guarding the bridge and we headed back to a farm we
had passed. A fed truck passed on the highway as we topped
a hill, shots were fired by troops and one of ours was killed.

At the farm an old woman hid us in the barn. She never
spoke a word when the U.N. patrol shot her and so we
ran again; this time hiding in the woods.

Next day we got stopped trying to cross the road at
Miller’s Dry Goods. Shots rang out! Smoke, men yelling
and now there are just two of us. There are stains of
blood on my clothes and a bullet had cut a clean hole
in my coat but not my flesh.

There was very little ammunition, we had no food but
thankfully no health problems, yet.

We had to get to Colonel Grayson’s militia; our only hope.
We found some food and had a small meal at an old abandoned
cabin but in the morning as we departed, the crack of a
sniper’s rifle cut my companion down. I fought for a short
while but the cabin was surrounded.

They dragged me out, angry because I had taken out a few
of them before the door gave way and six feds and two Brits
grabbed and tied my bleeding hands. They read the orders
and took me to the wall but just before they shot me, I heard
myself scream…
FREEDOM!

(Aide-toi, le ciel t'aidera)