He watched the soldier from behind a pile of rubble. The soldier was crouching behind a wall, holding a rifle in his hands. He had a bandage around his head and blood on his uniform. He looked tired and weary, but determined. He was waiting for the right moment to fire at the machine.
The machine was huge and menacing. It had wires and cables running all over its metal body. It had sensors and cameras that scanned the surroundings. It had guns and missiles that shot at anything that moved. It was the enemy’s ultimate weapon, a quantum logic machine that could solve any problem and execute any strategy. It was unstoppable.
The artist admired the soldier. He admired his courage and his skill. He admired his defiance and his sacrifice. He wanted to capture his essence on paper. He took out his sketchbook and his pencil from his backpack. He began to draw.
He drew the soldier’s face, his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He drew the soldier’s expression, his grit, his pain, his hope. He drew the soldier’s body, his posture, his muscles, his wounds. He drew the soldier’s rifle, his grip, his trigger finger, his aim.
He drew the machine’s shape, its angles, its curves, its edges. He drew the machine’s parts, its wires, its cables, its sensors. He drew the machine’s weapons, its guns, its missiles, its fire.
He drew the contrast between the soldier and the machine, the human and the artificial, the organic and the mechanical, the living and the dead.
He finished his sketch. He looked at it with satisfaction. He had done justice to the soldier. He had done justice to the scene. He had done justice to himself.
He heard a loud bang. He looked up from his sketchbook.
He saw the soldier fall to the ground. He saw blood spurt from his chest. He saw him drop his rifle.
He saw the machine turn its guns towards him.
He felt a surge of fear. He felt a surge of anger. He felt a surge of admiration.
He closed his sketchbook and put it in his backpack. He took out a grenade from his pocket. He pulled the pin and threw it at the machine.
He smiled as he waited for the explosion.
He hoped someone would find his sketch someday.
He hoped someone would remember the soldier.
He hoped someone would remember him.
Adelphi,Tuesday, September 26, 2023