TRANSGRESSIVE FICTION
The Bombs Keep Dropping
After the drought and famine, the soldiers and the tanks rolled into our town. They weren’t our soldiers. They weren’t our tanks. But they thought they could take what little we had left without consequence.
After the drought and famine, the soldiers and the tanks rolled into our town. They weren’t our soldiers. They weren’t our tanks. But they thought they could take what little we had left without consequence. They thought they would roll in, take what we had, and then roll out.
The tanks rumbled into town. Thugs in uniforms with guns took what we had. Then they tried to leave, but they forgot one thing. One important thing. Many other tyrants had tried the same thing century after century. Year after year. And we are still here, but we only etched their names in the book of the dead and lived on.
The bombs explode, and the fires burn while we watch and wait. In the dead of night, we slither from our homes. From our holes. We crawl from the evil blackness where we lay in wait, protecting…
