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27 Feb 2012
Here, there is no taste of sweat nor a pounding pulse running through him nor deafening earth-rending explosions. Just calm. Underneath the calm, inside his own mind, he always begins to feel the stirrings of fear. Such fear. Worse than the boiling hot terror of the desert and the threats of being imminently torn apart by pieces of flying metal- bombs and bullets and shrapnel. Boys playing with toys, it all seems a game when compared to this. This fear is like slow suffocation, like drowning. The dream continues on, merciless.