Small Groups

The little girl was shaking uncontrollably. It wasn't cold by any means, it was a humid day. The chills wracked her body as the soldier approached. He was sweaty and grimy, as befitting a soldier who just finished a battle. He got closer to the young girl--- who had to be about three or four--- and gingerly held out a cup for her to drink from. The girl just looked back at him, terrified. The shaking increased. Finally, she calmed down a little and took a sip. Whatever was in the cup, most likely water, seemed to do the trick. The shaking decreased. But, the look of outright terror still remained, firmly fixed on what should have been a doll's face. As the camera pulled back, the viewer saw the rest of the horror. Carnage beyond anyone's dark dreams. There were fires all around her, almost like Dante himself came up from the pits to inflame Earth. There was rubble, far as one could see, the remnants of what was once life blooming. The girl looked around wide-eyed, perhaps, she was searching for her mother or father or someone she loved. But, there was no one for her. The soldier, with permission from his commander, scooped the girl up. She would be sent somewhere where orphans always gathered after a battle. Wherever she would land, the scars of war would never go away........ He always loved to dance. Men dancing well can be a rarity, so, when he would get out on the dance floor and shake, shake, shake his booty, the women would gather around. Or, they would grab him, spinning him around. He went most willingly. After all, when you have the draw of being a good dancer, you, then, have the inside track to pursue something further and, possibly, get something going with the fairer sex. But, his love was the dance floor. Dancing takes you into the world of self-expression, a release of both the freedom of letting your guard down, and, a little bit of a show-off. He loved that. He knew that when he went into the Army, his dancing days would be limited. Not much shaking your tailfeather when bombs are blowing off all around you and people are pleading for their lives. Soon, out of nowhere, he would be one of these people. The explosive came out of the ground, a treacherous landmine waiting for the unfortunate to step on. He was the unfortunate one. It blew up and the next thing he knew he was waking up in a hospital--- really, a makeshift horror show--- with the screaming and pleading prayers to God coming from all around him. Through the haze of pain, the doctor informed him that his legs could not be saved. Despite his pleas that he did not want to live if he lost his legs, soon, he would be waking up half the man physically he once was. The rest of his life would be artificial limbs and wheelchairs. And, no more dance floors....... The old man lived a full life after seeing his battle. He came home from the war physically well, but, mentally the scars would never heal. He had seen too much, lost too much. Friends would die all around him---- one in his arms--- and they would be denied the continuation of life that he would get. The old guy took this with him every day. He fathered several children and ran a good business. By all accounts, he was a good man who lived a good life. And, he was. He developed a love of gardens and flowers in his later years. He always told people that he had seen so much of life destroyed when he was younger that he wanted to see life bloom. But, there were the nights, those late nights, when sad thoughts and bad dreams run together, that he went back in time. And, that time saw his friends in the war that missed out on life. He heard their voices, alarmingly clear at times, whispering in his mind, that he did not deserve to live while they were dead. The ghosts of the past ate at him. The mind plays tricks with us all. We believe the good in ourselves but the bad parts sometimes speak the loudest, playing to our fears and insecurities. This is what happened to the old man. Despite what he had done in life---- and, it was considerable--- he never lost the voices coming to him nightly, wondering why he was there when he shouldn't be. One night, the voices took control of him fully and he slashed his wrists in the bathtub......... These are the faces of true war. It isn't John Wayne on a battlefield, it isn't CNN and other outlets spinning the coverage so that it looks like a fast paced TV show. No, war is the nameless. It is the orphans, and the men and women with dreams, and the old man who lives a good life but cannot shake the past. It has been extraordinary to me that throughout history, a small group of people dictate how and where we fight for them. This small group manipulates the larger group. And, we, the larger group, go along with it. From the dawn of mankind until now, think about it, this small group recruits us to fight their battles so they can keep their power and riches. How is this? Yes, some wars are necessary to fight. But, this small group has allowed that particular problem to escalate to where war is the only option. Hitler needed to be brought down but why was Hitler allowed to flower for many years until he became uncontrollable and needed to be fought? The same for our current problems with the Middle East and terrorism. The people in that region were never a problem to us until the late 20th Century. How is it that thousands of years of not really having any real need to deal with each other is now the ultimate danger of this new 21st Century? The answer is the small groups of men, on both sides, who now manipulate the public and suddenly have their side of millions of people against our side of millions of people. Throw in the always handy religious angle [ God wants America to win. Allah blesses the Muslims] and now the powder keg is ignited. But, it is only the small group that made that powder keg. The majority did not. When I was growing up I had no knowledge that they were bad people. My parents never called the Middle East the Satan part of the world [ Oh, I forgot. America is the Great Satan]. A child does not grow up to be hater. He or she is taught that. But, as an adult, I am being told that these people in the Middle East, who never did anything to me or anyone I know, are to be feared and eliminated [Hitler did this with the Jews]. And, they are being told the same thing on their side about us. Why do we continue to have our destinies bastardized by these small groups of powerful men and women? We repeat the same pattern generation after generation. The smart thing, the elephant in the room, is for the majority to band together and refuse to follow the whims and desires of this small group of madmen. But, this utopian dream will never happen, of course. It is very unrealistic to think this would ever happen, I know this. But, I am pretty sick and tired to be told to hate when all I want to do is live my life peacefully........