Friday, 18 July 2014

Thin red line

I pray before battle.

When dawn turns our red coats visible to living eyes we muster in hollow square: a porcupine of pike men, halberdiers and our priceless, shrinking rifle company. We wait, frantically deodorized, for the dogs to howl, the horses to shy and for Boney to arrive. After three dark-skied winters of war the enemy’s clothing has mostly faded to the nothing-grey of hell as Boney seeks the regimental band’s drumming ‘Zulu.’ Exceptionally, princess pink dye hasn’t dulled much during three ash-raining years. You need God’s forgiveness when shooting a crossbow at something wearing a Hello Kitty dress.