Sigrid VanHorn's Journal

Twilight Sleeping
I wonder what a man does after he helps to destroy something so sacred as the cradle of civilazation. Does he go to sleep in his American palace at night with not a twinge of feeling that something is awry? Is his heart so blackened that not one single, fleeting thought of self doubt can enter his mind as that gray head sinks into the down? Sure, it must be great to be around the other Movers. They pick their teeth and slap each other on the back and say, "Shit man! We sure did stick it to them! We're going down in the books!" They snort and fart and toast to success. Later he screws his adoring, ambitious wife and fantasies about Bagdad. But a man has to be alone with his thoughts sometime. I just wonder if the images dance in his head of burnt buildings and scorched bodies, crying woman, children without mothers or fathers, children without arms or legs, children scared and unable to be comforted. He has to feel his heart beating in finite rhythm. What must he feel and think as he takes his last breath ... before sleep?