The shrieking of the weld echoes inside the armour. The heart of it bleeding through to his skin. This is his tomb. Sealed in steel to march forward and break through enemy lines. No way to undo what they’ve done, he’ll be in here for what little time he has left. No hole from which to give him water or food. No way for him to relieve himself with dignity. It is thick with the reek of his sweat and fear. An armoured casket, designed to march forward, trample barbed wire, smash bones, then die.
Paddy Dobson
1st October 2024