Soldiering on, reinforcements are on the way…

The following is an excerpt of an unknown author;

Memoirs of a Soldier

The sun is hidden behind the smoky haze of flames.

The screams of the wounded and dying are muted, drowned beneath the chime and rasp of metal brought together in confrontation; a dissonant chorus.

The grip of my weapon is slick with sweat and the blood of my foes, creating a constant struggle simply to hold the weapon in my fist.

I push forward, iron weight shackling my limbs, the muscles are sore and tired and it is a struggle to move with every step.

Walking is the hardest.  There is a small sucking noise whenever I lift my feet and the earth lets loose grudgingly, attempting to stop my constant forward tread.

The beautiful green grasslands have been turned to a swamp of mud; the ground turned the color of rust as the lifeblood of the fallen mixes with brown earth.

As each foe comes against me, I know it will be the last, the one to finally free me from this nightmare, but I am denied each time.

The surge of adrenaline pulses through my dead limbs and the silvery flicker of my sword moves of it’s own accord.  The blade jumps and dives seeking the crimson drink it knows so well.

The salty heat splashes over my arms and chest, waiting to dry over the crusted stains of my past opposition.

I can taste blood; I no longer know its source, whether from the blows that loosened my teeth or the spray of life exiting my enemies.

Between battles, I feel the weight return to my muscles, I move forward because there is nothing else to do.  I do not know my destination nor from where I came.  I only know I must keep moving.

I walk as a contradiction, running from the reaper who holds the release I crave.

In death I could lay down my weapons and rest.

My blade hangs from a limp arm.  It cries because I cannot, the tip barely above the ground, weeping ruby tears.

To stop is to die.  I cannot wait until I am stopped.  I crave the end of this nightmare, but my muscles and steel betray me at every chance.  They force me to live, to walk, and to fight.

How much blood must I bathe in before my end comes?  Will I drown in it before the kiss of steel finds my heart?

There is no thought in combat.  There is only to cut.

Your opponent attacks, you cut.  Your opponent blocks, you cut.  Your opponent falls, you cut.  Cut until there is nothing left.

At night when the fighting is over, I pray for death to take me before the morning light, but my prayers go unanswered.

I should sleep to regain my strength, but I cannot.  I know what comes.

Tomorrow it will begin again.

 

Now you may be wondering why you are reading this semi-depressing piece of writing in a blog from a turnaround company.  I know I would be a little confused.  The answer to your question is because you understand the soldier in this story.  You get what it is like to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night knowing the next morning is going to be the same struggle.  You understand constant battle with no end in sight.  The draining effect this has on a person.  Being a small business owner is, many times, just like what this man experienced.  You fight off creditors every day.  You spend all your time and energy just surviving, putting one foot ahead of the other.  You have felt the overwhelming hollow feeling of being totally drained.

You are not alone.  Accept our help.  Let Second Wind fight the battle for you.  There is no need to feel like a veteran of a savage war when you are living your life.  We can take up the fight.  We choose to be on the front lines.  We allow you to work for the ability to live instead of living for the ability to work.

Lay down your weapons and rest.  We will take it from here.