SandScript 2023 [Digital Exclusive]

The Little Soldiers
Carissa Villalovos
Standing stiff, waiting, like soldiers at the feet of their dictator, Misty visioned,
crying for salvation, we rasped prayers through the static night, Til we believed
a god had heard our pleas,
Promised to sanctify what was named as dirty,
And thus we had named ourselves Dirty.
Children sang their deeds in a circle: Good and Evil,
But not too far from righteousness. Lost sense of self; so lost; Groaning under
the mad pursuit of approval; trained into obedience To a god without a voice,
whilst our own tongues bled with blistering confession
Repent! REPENT! Before Death himself arrives!—they remained motionless
Eyes gaping and alert to any sign of failure,
While we were sinking, begging for our flaws to be forgiven
Thrashing as the quicksand rose to our faces.—
Through the dust stirred by our weary, Dirty souls,
Caught in the thundering bellow of suffocation,
I saw what good little soldiers we had become.
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