Poetic Justice.
They thought that they
had shot him in the head
and that he was dead,
but the bullet had
only grazed him,
creating such
a bloody mess
and a furrow in his skull,
that convinced them
he was hamburger.
Didn't matter much anyhow,
as they hauled his
unconscious body
to a large, deep pit and
then unceremoniously
tossed him in.
The bulldozer was
being repaired
and the stench
below was horrendous
so they turned and
scurried away.
He awoke in a
massive pile of corpses,
his flesh awash in
dung beetles and worms,
crawling in his mouth,
his ears and nose,
while the sickening
sweet smell of viscera
rotting in the hot sun,
caused him to gag and vomit.
He stood up on
the mushy bodies
breaking through
about two feet deep,
to find he was wading
in an ocean of maggots.
He kicked through
the wingless flys
and sludged his way
to the wall of the pit.
He was a U.S. Marine,
a trained survivor,
and he was pissed
beyond all measure.
With much distaste,
he began stacking the bodies
of all of those recently
deceased soldiers
who had been tossed
into the pit before him.
It took several hours
to free and stack them.
Then with a bit of
luck beyond belief
in his daunting hell
of melting flesh,
he found a 45.caliber pistol
and two magazines,
tucked into a boot holster
of a loose leg.
When the bodies
reached a sufficient height
he sat next to his
makeshift ladder,
and waited for
nightfall to come.
After dark he silently
scaled the mound
and gripped the
edge of the pit,
belly-crawling out
onto the cool, clean sand.
His drunken tormentors
and would be assassins
were sleeping about
thirty feet away
in a small shack.
No guards were posted
in this remote camp,
because the only real
threats were dead,
He re-conned the building,
crawled in and
methodically knocked
out one man
with a quick pistol
butt to his head
and then ordered
the other three to freeze,
With no time to scramble
for weapons they lay still
in their beds as he
cleared the room of guns.
Then he had them
get up single file
and march to the pit.
He ordered them
to strip naked
and then he tied
their hands tightly
behind their backs.
Their eyes grew
wide with fear
at what might
be coming next.
He then shot them
in the legs,
one bullet each
in six legs
and drop kicked
them hard into the pit.
They splashed
face first in great pain
into the corpses below
in sheer anguish.
They moaned and
writhed there until
he half carried and
dragged the last
unconscious guard to the pit,
tied and crippled him,
and threw him on top
of the others as well.
Then he walked away,
quite sure of his
knotting ability,
and the stopping
power of a 45.
plus the rapid
infection rate
of rotting corpses
in the jungle sun.
He walked away and
left them to the fate
they had chosen for him,
whistling an old tune:
"The Worms crawl in...
The Worms crawl out,
in your eyeballas
and out your snout....
The worms crawl in..
The ...worms.....................
©-Matthew F. Blowers III
