Whose impacts shatter everything, wood, stone and glass careen. The shock wave knocks the wind from her and throws her to the street. She hesitates not in the least, but gathers strength and rebounds to her feet. In her Confidence, this Round Eyed Nightingale from Our America. The cordite smell boils with the smoke, the fire tastes of burning flesh.
Carnage smells, urine and ammonia fear, the odors blend and mesh.
The sour taste behind the tongue, the gorge of death not quite complete, is mixed with wood smoke and the wail of sirens and the feeling of defeat. Amid the chaos she joins the frantic search, her duty sense grows bolder. Casting through the rubble for the lost she finds a lost young soldier. In her Confusion, this Round Eyed Grace from Our America. His side she reaches, opens her kit and gauges his condition quick.