I dig through the shelves
At a murderous pace
If I’m in here
So must he
I tear apart each shelf
Dumping the contents
On the floor
Finally
Something I’m good at
Drops of blood
Dab the faded pictures
And I realize
That I’ve failed
To patch the wound
That led to my capture
Always been a slow bleeder
But a wound to the chest?
Even I’m not so talented
To quell the rivers
Flowing from me
I find a thread and needle
Dig out the bullet
With my fingers
It takes every ounce of focus I can muster
Somehow I manage
To sew myself shut
While the walls rattle around me
Hard to tell
How extensive the damage is
Surely I will feel it
In the coming days
The old man patched me up
To some extent
Before he lost his head
Leaving my wound exposed
Beckoning flies
And legions of fowl things
To lay their hatchlings
I dump the remainder
Onto the floor
Mountains of books and paper
Difficult to navigate
But I can barely walk anyways
No harm
No foul
I try to shake my disappointment
As I endure the last of the photos
He is not here after all
I will have to shoulder his memory
A while longer
In my heart
I sift through the files
A worthy distraction
Papers marked ‘Classified’
Awash in acronyms
I cannot comprehend
I stumble across early designs
At first I mistake them
For plans to dust crops
But what I hold are
The seeds of annihilation
Not thermonuclear designs
But small impact
Cluster bombs
Meant to carry
Living organisms
To sow the land
The very ones
Chewing these walls
The deeper I delve
The less I am aware
Of my plight
A series of internal memos confirm
They were not meant
For a common enemy
But the local populace
The liberties of the masses
Can be a nuisance
For the ambitions of the few
Collateral damage
Regrettable
But always deemed necessary
The mites transported the virus
That I am certain
The plague
No coincidence
But an evolution
Of our species
At least that was the idea
Sold at the highest levels
The desired outcome achieved
Their intent sparks my curiosity
For these creatures can tap
The nervous system
Reanimate cadavers
If they so desire
Like the poor fool
On the other side of the wall
All of us puppets
More than any of us imagined
I fear there is more to them
Than I care to know
I look around
Spot a microphone
And communications equipment
In the corner
And I realize
What this place really is
‘Tis not just a bunker
But a station
Meant to warn others
Of the impending holocaust
No doubt many died
For the files in my hands
And many more will perish
To get them back
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