We, the Faceless

Forty five black radiation suits filling up a table.

Eating the same brothy slush that hardly fills our stomachs.

But soldier, don’t question.

Don’t look up. Or left or right.

Just down. At the slush.

Shovel it into your mouth. Force it down your throat.

Don’t think about the people, about the children, you’ll execute tomorrow.

Don’t think about their screams.

Just eat.

Because you’re one. One in forty five, in a hundred, in a thousand.

You’re lucky to be alive.

The alarms go off.

We all stand.

Pull on our masks.

And just like that the world goes green.