chung-chul-moo

A lone soldier ran thought the ruins of a once beautiful down town street. He could only imagine what this street used to look like, lovers going on strolls, families going out for lunch, and the occasional drunkard roaming the streets saying the end was coming. If only they had listened, if only they had prepared for this, this war to end all wars. Dare he call it, Armageddon? He ran and ran and ran. It was all he could do, his sweat staining his blood soaked uniform. Then he saw it, a friendly road block. He waved his arms to get one of the soldier’s attention. They did not see him. He began yelling. They did not hear him. He began sc